


Azure Shadows

by Sayl



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Azure Moon path but altered due to the events of Cindered Shadows, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Edging, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Eventual Torture, F/M, Slow Burn, character death but it's either canon or fixed by divine pulse, first 5 chp are pre-ts, no romance pre-ts, sometimes you just have to run around half naked, vulgar and crass language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 80,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25082962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sayl/pseuds/Sayl
Summary: Byleth never trusted the Church of Seiros. But a few months after the events of Cindered Shadows, she begins to suspect there's an evil that runs deeper: And she's caught at the center of it.Distrust morphs into animosity, but she's in too deep to simply walk away...The list of people she trusts grows smaller each day until she disappears.After her return, they already have their hands full with a devastating war and the fractured sanity of the crown prince, but there's so much more lurking beneath their feet.One wrong step could be their last.----A darker series of events for the Azure Moon plotline after taking into account all the shit that happened in Abyss in the Cindered Shadows DLC. Gradually diverts further and further from the canon events~
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Hapi, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth, Sylvain/Dorothea (background), Yuri/Ashe (background)
Comments: 90
Kudos: 116





	1. Arc I: Academy - 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have altered the titles to better suit a more long-term, multi-arc fic like this one will end up being so hopefully that helps with organization and referencing old chapters!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodrigue needs help fighting off the bandits in Fraldarius territory, and Felix recruits Byleth to do just that.

**~Byleth~**

It was a surprisingly _strong_ aroma, not like any tea she’d ever smelled before. Nor did the opaque black liquid _look_ like it, either. Byleth’s hands rest softly around the warm ceramic of the mug, a stark contrast to the chill of the air around them as the last day of autumn prepares for a long winter ahead. Byleth stares at her muddled reflection in the beverage, blinking as she tries to recall exactly what Hapi had said she’d brewed. It wasn’t for lack of listening, but there’s no denying that it’s taken longer for her to wake up than usual. Between the victory at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion and the following festivities, she hadn’t quite gotten enough sleep to make up for the amount of energy she’d expended. 

“What kind of tea did you say this was again?” she asks, looking back up at her red-haired companion. Hapi sits across from her at one of the dining hall tables, currently taking a rather pleasant draw of the same beverage in her own mug. When she finishes, she blinks at Byleth once, the vaguest semblance of either concern or annoyance. Perhaps a bit of both, knowing her. 

“Not tea. Coffee,” she corrects in her ever-dry tone. “Coco introduced me to it the other day. It’s really bitter, but strangely addicting...aaand aggravatingly hard to get a hold of if you weren’t born with a silver spoon in your mouth.” The purse in her lips makes Byleth wonder if maybe she’s regretting sharing such a rarity she has so little of. But it doesn’t last long before it’s erased with a shrug of resignation. “But, it’s really good for helping you perk up after a long day and a short night. I figured you could use it...and I guess you kinda earned it after helping us win that mock battle and everything. So, don’t say I never gave you anything.” Despite the sass of her words, the slight curve of her lips makes Hapi’s light-hearted teasing clear. The professor mirrors the expression.

“I’m not sure if I should thank you or curse you, but I’ll figure it out soon enough.” With a nod of silent thanks anyway, Byleth brings the mug to her lips to take a drink, and does pause as a jolt of heat and sharp bitterness coats her tongue. The way her eyes widen must betray her shock and uncertainty, drawing a slight chuckle from Hapi in response. Byleth stares at the drink for a moment, perplexed at how something could be so awful and amazing at the same time. “You weren’t kidding. It’s _incredibly_ bitter.”

Hapi smiles in reply. “Way better than tea, right?” 

“Way better than tea,” Byleth nods with an amused tug of her lips. Though, by the sound of it, not as easy to get a hold of. She makes a mental note not to get her hopes on making this a regular morning routine. 

There’s only a brief lull of silence before Hapi speaks again after sipping more from her mug. “So did you hear about the nonsense going on in that village down in the Empire? Some sort of weird plague or something. We get our fair share of weird sicknesses down in Abyss, but I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

An exhale leaves Byleth in response, thinking back to her conversation with Manuela just the other day. She’d been the first to hear about it, the village doctors seeking her counsel on how to proceed or if she had any knowledge about the symptoms. As far as she knew, there had only been a few isolated cases. “Manuela mentioned it the other day, but didn’t exactly use the word _‘plague’_. Are more people affected?”

Hapi shrugs again, seeming to just be holding the coffee under her nose now with her elbows propped on the table, savoring what she can of her indulgent drink. “That’s what it sounds like. I overheard Anna talking about it with some of the other merchants when I went to buy this coffee, actually. Apparently it spreads pretty quick and they haven’t figured out a cure yet. The church hasn’t exactly offered to help much,” Hapi’s tone takes on the biting distaste it always does when it comes to the Church of Seiros. “I’m sure praying to the goddess isn’t gonna be of any real help to the sick people, but I don’t expect much else from them at this point.” 

And Byleth isn’t one to disagree on that front. But with little knowledge on such things beyond basic first aid, she’s not of much more assistance. “That’s probably why they’ve been writing Manuela. I don’t know how much help she can give, though. She says based on the variety of symptoms that it’s likely either poison...or magic.” Those kinds of ailments aren’t so easily cured, even by someone of Manuela’s caliber. “She’s still trying to find answers, though. Before it gets out of hand.”

The conversation halts as Hapi’s gaze darts to the side, acknowledging the figure that comes to stand at the end of the table just beside them but otherwise unphased by his approach. “Hey, Fefe. How’d you get in here? Didn’t think your head would fit through the doors anymore after getting MVP yesterday.” 

“Shut up,” he mutters in familiar annoyance, knowing that she’s just trying to rile him up but unable to come up with an additional response that wouldn’t just play into her jab. Though Hapi tries to hide the amused smirk on her lips behind another sip of coffee, Byleth notices it before it dips behind the mug. The professor turns her attention to Felix in time to see that he’s done much the same to her. “I’ve a favor to ask you.” 

She gives a blank stare in response, but there’s a hint of surprise in her tone. “That’s unusual for you.”

“It’s an unusual favor,” he responds, but calm as he seems on the outside, there’s still a sort of tension that tugs at his jaw. “Meet me at the training grounds when you’re done here. I’ll tell you what it is after we spar.” 

“So then if I win, do I get to ask an unusual favor of you instead?” Byleth can’t help but tease, even as Hapi gives a brief roll of her eyes in the background. 

He must be used to her antics by now, seeing how unruffled he is by them. “The two are unrelated, but you’re welcome to try your luck. Assuming today isn’t the day I defeat you.”

The determination in his eyes hasn’t changed, though. Though unmatched by his peers when it came to the blade, Felix still hadn’t managed to beat Byleth in combat. She doesn’t doubt that was why he sought her out as a training partner so often, hoping the challenge would hone his skills enough to lock in a victory before the school year was out. She gives him a nod of agreement. Despite how tired she’d been that morning, she’s eager to get her blood flowing again with some exercise. And there seems to be some truth to Hapi’s claim that the coffee would help her wake up. “I’ll meet you there shortly.”

“Good,” he nods as he starts to turn on his heel. “It’s a time-sensitive matter, so don’t make me wait all morning.” 

If she intended to give a further response, she doesn’t get the chance before he departs. But anything Byleth feels the need to say, she will have the chance later. For now, she turns back to her companion who has already returned _her_ focus to the basket of pastries to the side. “Waif, you’re gonna figh him again arready?” Hapi questions, mouth already half-full. Swallowing, she quirks a brow at Byleth in curiosity. “Was the all-day battle yesterday not enough for you two?”

“I do some form of training every day,” Byleth shrugs, not seeing anything odd about it. “Sitting still all day isn't’ for me.” She has no issues with reading and enjoys fishing, but doing just that all day sounded maddening. Perhaps there were other things she could do, but she prefers to keep her skills honed. And, if she’s honest, fighting is her favorite form of exercise. It just happened to also be Felix’s. Though he certainly seems a bit more...consumed with it. 

“I don’t get you, Chatterbox.” She shakes her head, likely stifling the urge to sigh as she always did. “All the things you could do all day and you choose to smack your students around with a glorified stick.” 

“That’s not true,” Byleth responds calmly as she lifts her mug up to her lips again. “I also like to smack around the knights.” 

That earns a scoff of a laugh from Hapi, “Ha ha, very funny. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?” the professor teases. “What sorts of things would you see as fun, Hapi?...Dancing, perhaps? It’s only a few more weeks before the White Heron Cup so I’ve heard, and I’m told I’m supposed to choose a representative-”

The words barely make it out of her mouth before Hapi points an accusatory finger at her across the table, lips pursed in blatant disapproval. “Don’t even think about it, I will never forgive you.”

Though Byleth doesn’t laugh, the humor that glints in her eyes is clear as day. Hapi doesn’t miss it. Slouching back in her seat, she pouts and crosses her arms over her chest . “You're so mean, Chatterbox. Don’t you have a spar to get to or something?” Rather defiantly, she grabs another confection and shoves it in her mouth.

That was certainly one way to end a conversation, but Byleth takes no offense. Finishing off the last of her coffee, she decides to forgo any real breakfast, lest she regret it after a few minutes on the training grounds. She moves to stand, but as she does, something hard and heavy, but small, knocks against the side of her foot. She glances down, unsure what she’d just kicked, and at first she sees nothing. The spots of rust nearly blended with the wooden floorboards, but it looks like some sort of black metal star. Her brow pulls together as she bends down to pick it up. It wasn’t uncommon for her to find lost things lying around, but this seems more like something that fell off an ancient rusted piece of armor. 

Holding it up, Byleth looks it over curiously, making a passing remark to Hapi as she does. “Seems like a weird place for scrap metal.”

“I don’t think it’s scraps. They clean this floor every day, it’s not like they just happened to miss that piece for like...five years,” Hapi says over her mug. “It probably belongs to someone, like a memento or something. There’s all sorts of reasons people keep old stuff around.”

Byleth gives it another look over, realizing that the center has a hole. It was part of a spur, made of black iron but clearly weathered from years of use. Certainly something a knight would wear, but the Knights of Seiros weren’t eating in the dining hall in rusty greaves. “You have a point,” she agrees, putting it in her pocket for now. “I’ll see if anyone’s missing it.” She gives a soft wave before departing. “Thanks for the coffee, Hapi. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Chatterbox. Kick his ass.”

* * *

The sound of clashing training blades is becoming more and more familiar than the clash of steel these days. Though she’s confident Felix would be more than capable of sparring with a real blade, Garreg Mach held strict regulations regarding weapons used by and against students in the training grounds. Felix’s sword crashes against her own with a force that threatens to splinter the wood, but her guard is steadfast. A practiced and swift turn of her wrist and efficient footwork has her forcing his blade to swing back wide. Earlier in the year, she’d been able to disarm him with such a move. These days it barely bought her a full second.

So when it takes him just slightly _longer_ than that to recover, she knows something is up. Were she to guess it, it likely has something to do with this ‘favor’ he mentioned earlier. Her sword swings straight for him again, and he blocks with no difficulty. But Felix’s shoulders are still wound tight like a bowstring. Most people wouldn’t notice the difference, but she’s paid close enough attention and _beat_ him every round that she notices the subtle inconsistencies. His footwork hasn’t changed, but there’s just a hint of less control in his swings and his brows pull together so tight she wonders if they’ll become fused. 

To test him again, she feints, waiting for him to follow. He predicts as much and doesn’t take the bait, but rather than rush forward again, she repeats the move from before. Again, she doesn’t disarm him, but the way he recoils and steps back, she can tell she came close. He hadn’t expected her to resort to it again so immediately. There’s a brief lull in attacks, each one’s eyes pointed at the other as much as their swords. 

“I haven’t seen you this tense since your father was here.” She leaves it at that. A statement. To acknowledge she can tell something is up, but not pressing him for an explanation, just opening the floor for one if he for some reason needed to let it out. She doesn’t really expect that he will. Not in words, at least. He’d always preferred to let his blade do the talking for him when it came to venting personal frustrations (frustrations with others, however, he could be quite vocal about). To emphasize she doesn’t intend to pry, she lunges forward again with another swift swing.

There’s a brief pull of disapproval at the corner of his mouth. “So you’ve noticed.” He seems more displeased with the fact that it was noticeable than her pointing it out, but she can’t be sure if she’s struck a nerve or not. Not when his focus is wholly on the spar at hand. Again and again, the training blades clatter and clash, each strike sending shockwaves down her arms the same way a real fight might. 

“If I were to guess, I’d wager it has something to do with him again,” she says as she turns to deliver a particularly powerful strike. Felix parries, pushing her blade aside before attempting a quick jab to her side. Byleth side-steps it with little time to spare. They’ve been at it for a while, it’s still warm enough outside that sweat starts to bead on her arms. But even still, she doesn’t tire yet. Every movement is as quick and harsh as it always is, her fighting style sacrificing true finesse for speed and power. Efficient, to the point, no need for fancy footwork or flourishing brandishes of her blade. 

Felix’s own fighting style was similar. Far more similar than she ever would have originally expected from a noble, just based on what she had seen of others. But within her first week of teaching at the officer’s academy, she’d quickly learned that Felix was far from the ‘expected’ when it came to the nobility. A refreshing change of pace, if she’s honest. She never did feel particularly comfortable around nobles. And most had certainly never been her biggest fan.

It had been part of why she’d chosen to teach the Blue Lion house all those months ago. Though half the students were of noble families...it never really _felt_ like it. Not strongly. Not compared to the Black Eagles. And though the Golden Deer had fewer...those few were quite the handful, in that sense. And Byleth certainly hadn’t regretted that choice, having grown rather close to all of her students (and, to her surprise, becoming rather popular with them). 

Swords clash again and he grunts with effort as he pushes back, forcing Byleth to take a step back for balance, weapon thrown aside but not leaving her grip. “Less talk, more fighting,” he groans, “I said I’d get to it after you fight me.” 

Despite the pushback, she recovers quickly, bringing her sword back in to deflect a subsequent blow from her opponent. “Alright then,” she fires back, shifting her stance just slightly. She can see the way his brows pull together in concentration, reading her movement even before she makes her next step. A step which involves a flurry of powerful hits, swings that he blocks with impressive speed. But even with his skill and persistence, she’s stronger. Each smash of her weapon pushes his own back a hair, slowing his reaction time by just that much each time. And he knows it, too. He’s fought her enough to know when she has the upper hand. Rather than stubbornly wait it out (as he often used to), Felix decides to go for broke. He sidesteps, swinging his blade around to try and hit her in the side, but at the last moment, she turns at the hips, the tip of the wooden sword just barely grazing along the shirt at her waist. Without her body to slow down the swing of his blade, Felix’s stance is overextended, leaving him vulnerable just long enough for Byleth to bring her training sword into his side. A grunt leaves her student as he tries to recover, but the extra half-second she stole from him was just enough to get her sword next to his neck, holding it steady while claiming her victory... _again_. 

There’s a frustrated grunt that rushes out his nose in response, aggravated at being beaten yet again. Felix quickly pushes away the wooden blade with his palm with a disgruntled “Fine, I yield.” While part of her is tempted to make good on her taunt from earlier to suggest an unusual favor from him, Byleth can read the air well enough to know that something is on his mind. She’ll save the teasing for later. Lowering the training weapon, her head tilts to the side just slightly, expression as unreadable as always. “So. What’s the favor?”

He hesitates a few moments, rolling silent words over his tongue behind his persistent scowl. It wasn’t like him to ask for help, so it wasn’t the easiest thing for him to vocalize. So he busies himself with putting away the training swords in favor of examining the dulled metal blades the knights used to practice. 

“I received a message from my father this morning.”

 _I knew it_. She doesn’t let the words slip past her lips, though. 

As if he could read her mind, his head quickly turns to face her, glaring as though daring her to say exactly that. When she doesn’t, the tension in his jaw seems to ease...just slightly. “Bandits have overrun Fraldarius territory and apparently he can’t handle it on his own. So he wants me to come back and help drive them off…”

“And you want me to come with you?” It seemed an easy enough guess. Why else would he pull her aside like this? Unless it was to find some excuse _not_ to go. But as much as Felix’s relationship with his father is obviously strained at best, she knows he wouldn’t just sit by and let brigands kill innocent people. 

He gives a brief nod in reply, but something about his tone changes. The frustration on his face is suddenly masked by something more casual, as if he was just asking her for a rematch. “Perhaps I shouldn’t pull you into this, since this stems from my family’s inability to secure the region, but I never tire of watching you fight. And it will be more interesting for you than the training ground-”

“I’ll come,” she states. Though, she can’t help but wonder just how much he’d prepared to sell to try and convince her. Did he really think it would be so hard? 

“Good.” A moment passes, but there’s little hesitation in his tone. “We’ll no doubt need more fighters, but...I’m sure we’ll have more willing volunteers if _you’re_ the one asking.” 

Her lip twitches upward at that. He’s probably not wrong. Felix had never been one of her more amicable students. Who else could she bring along? Ingrid and Dimitri would surely be easy to convince. Sylvain wouldn’t be much of a challenge.

Ah. It occurs to her that a trip to Fraldarius would take a few days, not including the actual mission. She’ll have to bring _all_ her students anyway. Well, that made things easy enough. This would just be a more... _hands-on_ assignment, since they’d be missing a few classes. “I’ll work something out.” 

He watches her for a moment, trying to read her expression. A fruitless endeavor, still. Though he’s been good at reading so many others, he can’t quite crack her code. She can see how it frustrates him in the subtle twitch of his lip. But he takes the answer without question. “Alright. Just don’t take too long. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can stop them.” Just as he turns to leave, he calls back over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you at the gates at midday.”

She looks up, gauging the sun’s position in the sky. A stupid thing to do, she realizes, as she moves a hand up to shade her eyes from the blazing light. Based on the glimpse she got, midday wasn’t too far off. She had...what? A little over an hour? Byleth looks back towards where Felix had been standing, but he’s already gone. Or at least, he seems to be. She can’t say for sure past the giant green sunspot that obscures her vision. 

_‘ Does that boy know how to speak without first pitching a sword about ?’_ The voice in her head echoes of equal annoyance and confusion. _‘ You could be halfway there by now were it not for your absurd rituals. ’_

 _\- Where’s the fun in that? -_ Byleth’s voice in her head is somehow snarkier than when it comes out her mouth, or at least the woman in her head seems to think so. 

_‘ You humans have such strange ways, ’_ Sothis replies, a sigh of exasperation ringing through Byleth’s head. _‘ Well, he certainly didn’t give you much time to recruit fighters on such short notice. You had best get moving! ’_

 _\- I know, -_ she returns as she steps toward the exit of the training ground, pushing the doors open and heading for a familiar alcove just a few paces away. _\- So I’m going to get Yuri to help. -_ He and the other Ashen Wolves had asked to sit in on her classes periodically, this was just going to be a more...hands-on learning experience. And it’s faster to have two people recruiting on such short notice. And she still needs to change.

**~Felix~**

Another splash of crimson marrs the cobblestone of his hometown’s streets. But better the blood of a bandit than the innocent townspeople. His breathing is heavier as he lifts his blade again, ready to move in on what appears to be the last enemy. At least, that’s his assumption, based on the way the rogue panics and tries to bolt for the nearest exit. Felix darts after him, refusing to let him get away, but there was already a lot of distance between them, he has a lot of ground to make up.

But she’s faster. He sees the shadow of her silhouette dash across the opening between two houses, cutting off the bandit at the end of the road just as Felix makes it out to the street behind him. Realizing his path is blocked, the brigand skids to a stop, ready to backtrack, only to find Felix’s blade run through him. Yanking the steel from the man’s torso, Felix lets out an exhale of relief as the corpse collapses on the ground. He looks up, expecting to see Byleth sheathing her blade, perhaps ready to give him some sort of critique on his form. Instead, he sees she has her bow drawn, aimed directly at him. 

He freezes a moment, not quite able to process the reason why in the split second between lifting his gaze and Byleth loosing the arrow. There’s an embarrassing moment of nerves that tugs at his chest, though he’d never admit it, as the wind rushes right past his ear a moment before a pained grunt rings out behind him. Felix turns just as another bandit hits the ground, an arrow jutting from his eye socket. 

It’s bad enough that she’s almost untouchable with a sword, it seems unfair that she would also have that kind of accuracy with a bow. Some days he feels like the gap between their skill is insurmountable. And it _frustrates_ him. 

He hates even more that there had been an enemy behind him that he didn’t notice. He’s always prided himself on his ability, on his awareness and skill on the battlefield. And here he’d been so convinced he’d kept count of the remaining enemies that he’d let his guard down. 

_Damnit_. 

If Byleth noticed his frustration, she didn’t comment on it as she approached. No doubt realizing that Felix is likely already kicking himself for it. If nothing else, at least his _father_ wasn’t in the immediate area. The last thing he needs is for Rodrigue to add another disappointment in his youngest son to his list. She stops in front of him, adjusting the fabric of her gloves as casually as if she’d just dressed for a morning’s ride. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” she muses, expression as blank as ever. 

A mild scoff leaves him. “I knew it wouldn’t be if you came.” Felix casts a glance over to where his father and his remaining men are grouping. “How pathetic that the old man can’t even keep bandits at bay.” Was the man not supposed to be the “Shield” of Faerghus? And yet here he is, asking for backup from a bunch of _students_ to do what he and his army of grown men could not. 

“He’d best hope a real war doesn’t break out or he may be in serious trouble.” 

Felix turns back to her, surprised by her words. It was...not the reaction he expected. Because it was not the reaction he usually got from people. Most, even his closest friends from childhood ( _particularly_ his closest friends from childhood) were so quick to defend the man. To say that he’s trying his best, to make excuses for him because of his noble intentions or support of Dimitri or the _loss of his son_. 

Felix had lost that same person, yet when he lashes out, he doesn’t receive that same sympathy. Not that he _wanted_ it, but Rodrigue certainly doesn’t deserve it...Not with the way he treated that loss. 

Byleth, however, acknowledges that weak link, sees it for what it is. She was a mercenary. Practical and perhaps cold, but her calculating demeanor meant that she valued strength and ability over chivalry and image. His old man could learn a thing or two from her. 

Doubtful that he would. But Felix would learn everything he could from her. That was why he always goaded her into sparring, why he’d asked her to come here in the first place. 

Before he can respond, Byleth’s attention flicks over his shoulder and Felix turns to see his father approaching them with that persistent smile on his face. Felix’s scowl deepens, but he says nothing at first. No doubt the man came to speak to her anyway. And as usual, he’s right. 

“We are grateful for your help, professor,” he says to her. And though Felix _is_ grateful for her help in protecting the innocent people, his teeth grind as his father chooses to speak for him on the matter. “This village was important to the late king, and I doubt these bandits would have stopped anytime soon. I doubt I could have faced him if anything were to happen to it-”

But Felix can only hold his tongue for so long (and that is, about three sentences, as it turns out). “We were protecting your _subjects_ ,” he spits. “Not your _ego_. I don’t give a fuck if you can bring yourself to face a dead king.”

As usual, the smile is wiped from Rodrigue’s face when it comes to Felix’s acerbic tongue. “I will not tolerate such language from you.”

But he isn’t one to stand down, particularly not in the face of his father. “I came here to hone my blade and save innocent people.” For a moment, he forgets Byleth is even there, but he can feel her eyes on him after he speaks. “I suppose if I had died, you would say the same thing you did after Glenn’s death. _‘He died like a true knight_ ’.” There’s extra venom in his words at that part, but his agitation is boiling over. Neither says anything, but he can see this conflict in his father's face...and as usual...Byleth’s expression betrays nothing. A low growl rumbles in the back of Felix’s throat as he squares his shoulders, glaring off to the side. He needs to remove himself from the situation before he really loses his temper. “I have nothing more to say…” he snaps, before turning on his heel and heading back the way they came. 

* * *

The march back is grueling. The weather had shifted since they left Fraldarius territory. The sun no longer warmed the chilled air, and instead grey clouds and a light drizzle of rain pepper the landscape and their clothes. Most do not try to approach Felix, as if he is emanating some aura that says ‘do not bother me’ even more than usual. He sticks to the middle of the pack, ignoring the conversation going on around him. But he does look up periodically, looking for her. He isn’t exactly sure _why_ , but he does. She leads the way, walking up front next to that man from the underground with the sly smile and invasive eyes. They’re engaged in conversation. Have been since they left. For some reason, it agitates him. Perhaps it’s jealousy that _he_ could be up there, picking her brain for critiques or fighting strategies that he could use to improve his skill. Perhaps he just doesn’t trust the man as far as he can throw him. Felix wasn’t there for whatever business had gone on underground, but he’s heard whisperings of it from Ashe and Dimitri. He noticed how... _different_ Byleth was afterward. It’s only been a few months since then. But while he knows little about what happened back in the Verdant Rain Moon, he does know that this man has been around constantly since then. Sometimes in the open like this, but usually, lurking in the shadows. 

The redhead was around a lot as well, but she seemed the honest sort. Brutally so. He has no concerns about her intentions.

Another redhead, however, has decided to step into his bubble of hostility. But that barrier had never been an obstacle for Sylvain before. “So, heard the professor saved your ass today.” That insufferable grin is on his face, Felix knows it without even turning to look.

“Shut up,” he grumbles in response. “I miscounted. I won’t make that mistake again.” Orange eyes flicker over at his smug companion briefly. Half-hearted mockery plays on his tongue, “You’re one to talk. How many times has she prevented you from ending up dead in a ditch?” 

Sylvain seems undeterred by the accusation, as usual. This wasn’t the sort of thing to get under his skin, after all. “Ah, that’s different though. Normally, playing the knight in shining armor to save the pretty girl is a flawless strategy, but the professor isn’t really the damsel-in-distress type. There’s something kinda sexy about having the pretty girl come to my rescue, though.”

Felix shoots a full glare over at him, for so many reasons. “You put yourself in danger just to get her attention? You cannot be THAT stupid! What if-”

“Whoah, hey, relax!” Sylvain interrupts, arms up defensively as he backs down a little. “I was just kidding, I don’t _purposely_ put myself in that situation. She just happens to be a lot more aware on the battleground than I am.” There’s a slight pause before he gives a shrug. “Aaand if something happens~”

Felix puts a hand up, cutting him off again. “I don’t want to hear about it,” he snaps. Not only does he not like to hear about his friend’s _philandering_ tendencies...but hearing it in regards to Byleth is particularly insulting. She was too smart to fall for that kind of bullshit...Right? He looks up again at her...Is she standing closer to Yuri? Part of him wishes he was closer to hear what they were talking about. Part of him is glad he isn’t. He glances back over at Sylvain. “Besides, I thought you didn’t like her, anyway?”

There’s a crooked smile on Sylvain’s face at that, but it’s devoid of any real joy or humor, his eyes make that clear with the bit of disdain in them, no matter how he tries to hide it. “Oh, but I like things _about_ her. You don’t have to like a girl to want to bed her.” 

A disgusted grunt leaves Felix at that, and he refuses to entertain the conversation further for the rest of the march. 

* * *

When they arrived back at Garreg Mach, everyone is quick to disperse. Felix’s mood hasn’t improved much, he thinks to head to the training grounds and smack one of the training dummies around for further training and stress relief before he inevitably passes out in bed. It was already late, but he’s too agitated to try to sleep right away. The day just...had not gone as planned. Yes, he got to see Byleth in action like he wanted and save the people of his homeland, but...it wasn’t what he’d hoped for the experience to be. Unfortunately, it was exactly what he _expected_ it to be.

Before he can get far though, he hears his name called from not too far off. He turns, seeing Byleth by the supply cart they’d brought with them. He pauses, but doesn’t think to move for some reason. Not until she beckons him over with a quick motion of her fingers. 

“What is it?” he asks as he approaches, perhaps a bit more disgruntled than he intended to sound. 

“I have something for you,” she says, before stepping into the cart and behind the drawn curtain. He waits, expecting her to come out with it, but she doesn’t. Instead, a moment later, she pops her head out from behind the dark curtain with a curious look on her face. “You coming?”

She wants him to go in the cart? Why? She was so strange sometimes...He quirks a brow, but doesn’t question it as he enters as well. It takes his eyes a few moments to adjust to the dim lighting, but he can see well enough. There still crates and weapons lined up along the sides, leaving a small “aisle” down the middle to navigate to the back. It’s a little small, however. Cramped for two people. He doesn’t go in far, for fear of running into her when the two of them are already crouched forward. That would be...awkward, to say the least.

A short ways in, she turns and sits on one of the crates, reaching over to the side to pick up what appeared to be a heavy object wrapped in some sort of thick, blue velvet cloth. He takes a seat on another crate in front of her, curious what the hell she’s about to give him that is quite obviously not any sort of sword. It was far too short and broad. 

When she unfolds the fabric to reveal what’s underneath, he feels a bit sick to his stomach. Because he immediately recognizes what it is.

The Aegis Shield...The Fraldarius Hero Relic that had been passed down through the family for generations. Something that his father had given to Glenn years ago when he became a knight. Part of him always knew he’d likely have it put into his own hands one day. 

But he’d expected that it would fall to his hands from his father at some point. Not his teacher. He looks up at Byleth, brows knit together in aggravation. He knows that he and his father are not close, but the fact that the man hadn’t had to spine to give it to him directly...It stings like nettles in his chest. Just another rift between them.

He looks up at her face, and there’s a downward tug at the corner of her lips. Felix’s expressions were never subtle, no doubt she could see his displeasure. “Why did he give you that?” He asks her, unable to keep all the bitterness from his tone.

“Wish I knew,” she sighs, seeming rather exasperated by the action. “After you left, he just said ‘he’s been like that for four years’, and then gave this to me...and told me to give it to you when you were ready…” 

“That’s it?” Felix scoffs, sitting back as his hands cross over his chest. “He didn’t say anything about why?” That seemed...so odd. Usually, Rodrigue never missed a chance to explain that Felix’s standoffish behavior was due to the loss of his brother. The man never missed a chance to brag about his favorite son to explain why his _other_ sun was so rebellious, it seemed. But to her, he’d barely said anything at all?

“No, just that the two of you have...differences in opinion.” Her shoulders drop in a sort of apathetic shrug. “As if I didn’t know that already. Though I assume he was referring to the situation with…” She trails off, as if second-guessing whether or not she should bring it up. 

He hates talking about it, but she’s already been dragged into the middle of his family drama. The least he can do is give her the explanation that his father failed to. “My brother,” he finishes for her. “He died years ago in the tragedy of Duscur…” Felix doesn’t say anything about how strongly he mourned the death of his brother, or about what his father said to him. He doesn’t want her pity. But he will explain his disdain for his father. “The old man glorified his death...Speaking of what an _honor_ it was that he died protecting the royal line, the way a true knight should.” He’s speaking through his teeth he realizes, and tries to force the tension in his shoulders that threaten to snap like a bowstring. “...It’s disgusting the way he brags of his death and that everything he did when he was alive was just leading up to that ‘greater purpose’ and nothing more…” As if he never really cared about Glenn at all other than what he could do for the Fraldarius name and the country of Faerghus...As if he didn’t care for Felix at all because he didn’t see him as capable of bringing any honor the name. Giving the shield to _Byleth_ to give to him _eventually_ was just further proof of that. 

He nods his head at the Aegis Shield in indication. “It was Glenn’s, for a while…” Until he died. “It’s just been collecting dust since then…” Until it was supposed to go to him. But it does raise the question: If Rodrigue told her to give it to him when she felt Felix was ready, why was she giving it to him _now?_ So he asks exactly that.

Her fingertips tap idly against the shield, as if pondering the best way to phrase what she wants to say. It concerns him for a moment. Usually, when people have to think about it, it’s because they’re trying to come up with a lie. But there’s something about the way her nose subtly scrunches in thought that suggests she isn’t trying to make up a reason, but rather, she isn’t entirely _sure_ of the reason. After a few moments, she looks back up at him, a quick breath leaving her nose. 

“Frankly, because there’s no point in me holding onto it,” she admits. “I know this is supposed to be some sort of...milestone reward in your family or something, but to me, it’s just a shield that only you can use without repercussions, so...The logical decision is to give it to you...and let you decide when...or _if_ you want to use it.” She seems a bit torn, wondering if that’s an appropriate answer to give. And perhaps it isn’t. Felix would never want it just because he’s ‘entitled’ to it, but something about the way she explains it makes it clear that isn’t what she’s trying to do. 

She wasn’t a noble. These were not the sort of traditions she was accustomed to. To her, it’s just a piece of armor that could turn anyone without the right crest into a monster. It either goes with him, or it goes back to collecting dust. And she was too practical-minded to choose the former. She covers the shield again and hands it to him carefully, though she hardly seems affected by the weight of it. 

Felix nods, taking it from her hands into his own...realizing it’s even heavier than it looked. He grimaces again. His fighting style was based on speed and dodging...would this damn thing even do him any good? Shields were for _knights_. 

And Felix is no knight.

“I won’t be using it,” he tells her, though he doesn’t spill every reason for it. It’s impracticality for his skill set, his bitterness over his father not thinking him worthy enough to use it yet, not being ready to try and step into any part of Glenn’s shadow again. “At least, not yet,” he adds begrudgingly.

“That’s fine.” Byleth doesn’t seem concerned. “It’s yours to decide what to do with.” Sliding off the crate, she makes her way through the cart and back towards the exit again, bumping into his knees slightly on her way out. As he moves to follow, she adds without turning back to look at him, “That’s why I kept it hidden, in case you didn’t want people to know you have it.”

...So that they wouldn’t goad or guilt him into using it...or harass him for choosing not to. As they exit the cart, he tucks the covered shield under his arm. Glancing down at it, he decides it would be best to just stuff it under his bed for now. At least...it’s some sort of keepsake from his brother. The only thing that ever belonged to Glenn that Felix has...now that he’s _stupidly_ lost that iron spur a few days back. He’s still kicking himself over it, and he hopes he can retrace his usual steps and find it before someone else does. 

By the time he looks up again, Byleth is more than a few paces away. He wants to thank her, but...it feels foolish to shout it after her or run up to say it. So instead, he mutters it under his breath.

As if that counts...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering, Byleth is Assassin class.  
> Also, feedback is appreciated! felileth is my new hyperfixation so I'd like to see this fic through to completion. I have a lot of fun ideas i can't wait to get to, so I apologize if the first chapter started out a little slow.


	2. Arc I: Academy - 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something's going down in Remire village...and it isn't good.

**~Byleth~**

The lesson had ended for the day, most of the students filtering out of the room only moments later. Ashe had approached her desk, mentioning his nerves to start flying training. Byleth did what she could to ease his concerns, but comfort wasn’t particularly her strong suit. Somehow, she managed to maintain enough confidence in both the safety measures and obedience of the stabled wyverns (and that it would be a while of learning before he ever actually had to ride one) to put his mind at rest. For now, at least. In the future when he has to put the lessons into practice, though, well...who can say?

When Ashe moves to the exit, she notices that he was not the only one left lingering behind. Felix hasn’t left yet, but he also doesn’t seem to be waiting for her, either. His attention is entirely focused elsewhere...The floor? He looks like he’s just pacing about the area around his desk, arms folded across his chest as they often are, but she can see his gaze flitting about the slate tiles, clearly looking for something rather than staring off into space in contemplative thought. And he isn’t wearing the same pattern in the floor with his steps.

Her head tilts to the side, watching for a moment. Pondering if she should say anything about it. Her fingernails drum on the surface of her desk for a moment before she decides to speak up. “Need something?” 

Felix’s attention snaps up to look at her. Was he surprised to see her there? She was always the last one to leave the classroom. Whatever he’s looking for, he brushes it aside, shaking his head before he abandons his search and suddenly makes a beeline for her desk. He doesn’t seem _angry_ , but there’s certainly annoyance in the set of his brow. “I saw the lesson plans for next week. You switched my focus.”

“I should hope so, that’s why I post them on the bulletin board,” she says matter-of-factly. She didn’t wish to blindside her students, but not all of them checked the board diligently. She knows what he’s come to complain about, but she’s curious to see what _exactly_ his qualm with it is. “And I switched everyone’s focus for next week.”

He does seem irritated at her playing dumb, however, grunting in frustration. Were she not his professor, she’s certain that the _‘shut up’_ she sees in his eyes would have made it past his lips. “I came here to master the blade and hone my skills with a sword. I can understand needing some sort of versatility with other weapons for different situations, but I’m not here to waste my time.”

Byleth’s face shifts just slightly, a hint of disapproval tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’re still getting plenty of sword training,” she tells him. With as often as he demanded to spar with her, it was more than enough to make up for any missed lessons. “And I know you can fight with your fists, but I think it would do you some good to learn ranged combat, since you’ve already expressed you have no interest in mounted combat.” Having a mount gave you more mobility and would allow you to escape close-combat situations more easily. But Felix relied too heavily on his footwork and did not want to trust in a connection with an animal to move where he needed to. That’s fine, she can understand that. But he wasn’t going to get very far as a warrior in the long run if all he knew was the sword and nothing else. It was too limiting and would be an obstacle for him in certain situations, some of which are unavoidable. If he were to learn ranged combat in addition to his swordsmanship, he could attack from a distance to thin the herd before rushing in, often mitigating the need for a hard escape. But these are all things she’s talked about in class recently.

“I know that,” he huffs, frustration clear in his tone of voice. “So why not have me study the bow? I am not a _mage_. Studying reason magic is a waste of my ability. I don’t see how it’s the better option.”

She’s patient, but Byleth is far from a pushover. The other students didn’t push her as far as Felix did on the regular, but she’s learned this song and dance. She’s grown accustomed to the footwork involved with navigating around his stubbornness without losing his trust. Two gentle raps of her fingernails on the desk in preface to her words, a moment of silence in between to make sure he was done. “Because then you have to carry both weapons on you. You have to switch from a sword to a bow or vice versa very quickly if your situation takes a turn. You also have to carry the arrows with you and they won’t penetrate all forms of armor. A bow is ranged combat, yes, but other than that, it’s not that much more versatile than a sword.”

Felix simply stares at her in disbelief for a moment, his voice toned to match his expression. “If it’s so impractical, then why do _you_ use that method?” 

She quirks a brow. Was he just being stubborn? Or was this some sort of desire to match her fighting tactics exactly? Byleth understands that he wishes to learn from her, but that didn’t mean the only option was to follow her fighting style in every way. “Because Jeralt isn’t trained in magic and I’ve never been to school.” There’s no inflection in her voice to indicate she’s reprimanding him or trying to incite guilt from him, but she’d always been blunt. And Felix was certainly not someone she felt she needed to lessen blows for. She can see the corner of his lip twitch upward in a sort of annoyed resignation, but he doesn’t say anything right away. But she can tell she’s struck some sort of chord of understanding.

“I’m not telling you to be a mage,” she continues. “It’s not my job to make you miserable. But magic is the more practical choice. It’s not extra weight you carry, it penetrates armor, and it can’t be easily taken from you.” It wasn’t unlimited, no. It took energy, sure. But if she’d had the choice, she would have learned it far earlier. Now, she’s struggling to get a handle on any form of magic at all. Faith magic has proven easier for her, but there’s still a lot she needs to learn. A look at Felix’s face tells her that he seems to understand her point, even if he’s not ready to admit it. “If it doesn’t work out, we can transition you to the bow. But not until you give magic an honest try first.” She sees the skepticism in his expression as he stares at her, one hand resting idly on his belt. With a teasing glint in her eyes, she adds. “Who knows, you might like it.”

He scoffs, rolling his head back in defeat. “Fine. Point taken. I’ll give it a shot, as you say.” Byleth nods her approval as he turns to leave, but a few steps later, he pauses and turns halfway on his heel, looking back at her with a curious quirk of his brow. “You’ve never been to school?” The way he asks the question is more indicative of surprise than disbelief. 

Byleth shakes her head. “Traveling mercenary. Jeralt and life experience taught me everything I know.” It wasn’t exactly plausible to attend a school when you move cities every few weeks. So she may not know much about science or magic or religion, but she knew plenty about battle and survival as well as literacy and arithmetic. 

He’s silent for a moment, as if mulling over the words he wants to use to describe the perplexed furrow of his brow. “And you’re a... _teacher_ …” His voice dips towards the end, trying to find some logic to it. Which, to be fair, there is none.

Byleth shrugs, not offended even if, perhaps, she should be. “Wasn’t my idea. Why do you think the first few weeks of class were such a mess?” 

“They weren’t,” he’s quick to say. It draws Byleth’s gaze back up from the papers on her desk only a moment after she’d turned her attention to them. The question lies on her face, it doesn’t need to be spoken.

Felix seems hesitant to elaborate, lips twisting in contemplation for a moment before he speaks. “You just spent those weeks finding the best way to make your lessons stick for everyone instead of coming in with a plan for everything and expecting it to work...that’s all I meant by it.”

And from Felix, she knows he means that. He was never the sort to dump empty flattery on anyone. It does pull a small, genuine smile to her face for a moment. One that seems to fluster him enough to turn away again and leave like he originally intended to. She stands up and walks over to the chalkboard, wiping away the notes from class and, in her peripherals, she can see Felix hesitate once he walks out the door, as if something has caught his attention just beyond it, before he disappears entirely. But there’s an extra second before the door shuts behind him. Enough time for someone else to enter, despite the fact she hears no footsteps.

“Hey, Yuri,” she greets, not even turning to look as she stands on the tips of her toes to erase the top of the board. “Did you need something...or find something?”

“What if it’s both?” The familiar, smooth voice taunts from behind. Now she does look over her shoulder, just in time to see him help himself to her chair and rather casually prop his feet up on her desk, one ankle crossed over the other. 

Byleth quirks a brow. “Fair enough.”

“Not to worry, friend, the two are related,” he says, pulling a very small roll of parchment from his coat pocket. “First things first, you’re going to want to see this.”

She eyes him curiously for a moment, but puts down the cloth and approaches, taking the offered paper and unfurling it. It’s small, like it came from an old journal. The page is yellowed and weathered, there are a few water stains, but most of what’s written is legible. Unfortunately, it’s also written in a vague manner that doesn’t seem to make sense without further context. 

_scale - alive - unsuccessful - state : weak. not compatible._

_scale - nonalive - unsuccessful - state : unusable. terminated._

_scale / blood - alive - unsuccessful - state : transfusion rejected. failure._

_scale / blood - alive - unsuccessful - state : weak. not compatible._

_scale / blood - nonalive - unsuccessful - state : unusable. terminated._

Six more entries on the page of similar format, but slightly varying follow. The first signs of “success” for...whatever this was...are at the end of the list, numbered 12 and 13.

_blood / alive - scale / nonalive - tomb / moon - partial success - state : weak. compatible._

_scion - nonalive - direct - success - state : strong. compatible._

Byleth blinks at it, eyes roaming over the words repeatedly, trying to figure out what they were getting at. The hand holding the paper drops lower, her attention now returning to Yuri, whose expression is undecipherable (she hates how good at that he is when she’s so used to reading people). “Well, it’s certainly cryptic,” she states. “You think this has something to do with Sitri?” 

“Can’t say with total certainty just yet if it is or not, but I can tell you it’s written in Rhea’s hand.” Something Yuri would know, after working with her in secret for as many years as he had. “The rest is more based in...speculation.” His fingers fan out, bringing his fingertips together in front of him as a wry half-smile pulls to his shimmered lips. “You said you wanted to know how your mother’s body could be perfectly preserved for 21 years? Well, all my sources, both paper and flesh, report there’s no faith magic that can protect a corpse from all of death’s inconveniences. History shows us that only the immortal are safe from decay.”

It’s not that she doesn’t trust Yuri’s judgment or intelligence, but that’s a difficult pill to swallow. “So, you’re suggesting that she’s immortal?” Byleth shakes her head. “I don’t follow. If she was immortal, why would childbirth kill her? Wouldn’t that also make _me_ immortal?” And Byleth certainly is not that. She lifts the paper again, head tilting to the side in question. “And how is this related?”

Oh, but he does like to hold all the cards, to not show his whole hand at once. So these questions are necessary. Because he wouldn’t offer up the information freely. He wants her to work for it. “It’s _potentially_ related. I found that document in the infirmary, lying on the floor under the bookcase and neglected there for some years. In my experience, Rhea writes religious and political documents...not medical shorthand.” 

She blinks, waiting for him to connect that final dot. “And?”

“Ah, that’s right. You grew up knowing nothing of the church. So, I assume you don’t know the tale of how Saint Seiros and the other children of the goddess came to be?”

“Nope.”

“The goddess created her children from her own scales.” The wry smile pulls to a slight grin. 

Byleth looks at the paper again. _Scales_. It’s the only thing that’s written on every single entry at some point. She can see now where he’s coming from, but not everything is adding up, still. “So...she could have been made immortal, possibly. But maybe not _fully_.” It could also explain why the Chalice gave her the form of a dragon, if a dragon scale had been put into her somehow...But they’d never be able to find out by looking at her. Sitri’s body, along with Aelfric’s, had been destroyed entirely when they fused. Something that still angers her to this day.

She still hasn’t had the heart to tell her father. 

Those thoughts are put aside for now. There’s other things to focus on at hand. “Where the fuck is she getting dragon scales from?” 

Yuri shrugs, arms arcing out to the sides before they bend to rest behind his head. “That’s where the other half comes in: I need a favor of you.”

“Oh?” So he really did need something. But why her? Why not his plethora of underlings who always do his bidding?

“I suspect I could find more on this, but to do that…” he pauses, a cautious glance around the room and to the door, his voice low enough that it won’t carry past the walls, but still as confident as always. “I’ll need to find a way into her room.”

Now that was a hell of a task. “So...you need me to make sure she’s nowhere in the vicinity for a while so you can do that?” She doesn’t like the idea. If only because it means she’ll need to spend an extended amount of time with Rhea. Not to mention she’ll need to find a legitimate way to keep her busy and focused so she doesn’t grow suspicious. Byleth is good at stealth...but not necessarily deception. “Rhea I can find a way to keep busy. But I doubt she leaves the place unguarded or unattended.”

“Guards I can handle,” he says with a flick of his wrist, undeterred in the slightest. “It’s Rhea that I can’t maneuver. You, however, can.” Purple eyes lift up to look at her again, presenting a challenge. “Deal?”

Byleth sets the parchment face down on the desk. If it means that she can get some more answers about what the hell is going on with this place, she’ll stomach pretending that Rhea hasn’t gravely disturbed her in regards to what went down in Abyss a few months ago. “Deal.” 

The door bursts open suddenly, and they both promptly turn to see Jeralt in the entryway. Only years of discipline keep her from jolting from the startle, and instead her brows pull together. There’s an urgent look on his face and the tone in his voice matches, “We gotta go, kid. The situation at Remire has just taken a turn for the worse. They need as many of us down there as we can send.”

She nods, knowing her father well enough to decipher the rest. Get her students, get her sword, and do it quickly. Yuri is already leaving her seat as she moves towards the wall, picking up the sword of the creator and clipping it to the baldric at her back. “Grab anybody you see,” she tells him, though he probably already guessed as much. But much like last time, it’d be easier to track down all her students if two of them were looking. And it sounds like they have a lot less than an hour to get on the road now. “Anyone you can’t find in twenty minutes, leave behind.” Judging by Jeralt’s demeanor, speed was a lot more important than numbers. They could only afford to lose so much time.

And she can’t help but wonder exactly _what_ about Remire had changed. She recalled her discussion with Hapi not too long ago, about the illness that had been spreading there. Manuela had said it was likely caused by magic, but wasn’t able to determine what sort or how to cure it. 

What’s concerning Byleth now is that Remire is urgently requesting help from the monastery. But rather than asking for healers…

They’re asking for _killers_. 

* * *

Whatever she could have possibly expected, it didn’t come close to describing the scene they arrived at. Already half the village was burned down, but it wasn’t from bandits or lightning or monsters. The villagers themselves were on a rampage. Maniacal, inhuman laughter rings through the air, accompanied by blood-curdling screams and collapsing wood and crackling fire. Some of the people had gone deranged, grown deformed, and were terrorizing the others. The entire scene was chaos. Even the few moments they all take to plan their strategy is precious time wasted to keep another person from meeting a gruesome end. And at the end of that discussion, she remembers how shaken she was at Dimitri’s words...at the very way he _said_ them. She’d seen him lose bits and pieces of his polite and noble demeanor at times, but this was like an entirely different person. Words reeking of malice and voice laced with hatred. 

The boar that Felix had always called him...It wasn’t that she hadn’t believed Felix all those months ago. When he warned her to tread carefully, lest Dimitri chew her up and spit her out. She’d seen the darkened shadows hiding behind the prince’s eyes the day they first met. But to know something is there beneath the surface...and then to finally see it begin to break free...are two different things entirely. 

But she doesn’t have the time to address it now. Right now, she has to take care of the people who haven’t yet lost their humanity...by cutting down the ones who had. The ones who run around like rabid, feral beasts as they chase down anything that moves with blood running down their jaws. 

She sprints across the rubble, following the sounds of the nearest screams. Her feet move quickly across the dirt and rubble, lest the flames that climb along the side of the narrow path burn her arms or melt the soles of her boots. There’s a villager straight ahead trying to climb over the remains of a fallen house to get away from his pursuer, but he’s not moving quickly enough. Had Byleth not be right on the rabid one’s tail, the man no doubt would have been a goner. The Sword of the Creator extends, whiplike movements precise enough to nearly sever the assailant’s head from his shoulders. The corpse falls to the ground, quickly succumbing to the surrounding flames. 

The man mid-climb had stopped to stare at her with a sort of panicked expression, frozen in shock. What is he waiting for? Byleth motions with her free hand to shoo him away, saying nothing. He should keep running to safety. As he begins to clamber across splintered wood, a rush of air rings out overhead, followed by the grunt of a horse behind her. She turns quickly, sword linear once again and at the ready, but it’s not an enemy this time.

Ingrid’s pegasus hovers low but doesn’t bother landing. Though her student’s voice is steady and urgent, Byleth can see the worry in her eyes. “Professor!” She turns to look over her shoulder, back in the direction she just came from. There’s more concern this time when her gaze returns. “The Death Knight is here.” 

She nods, quickly following behind as Ingrid leads the way.

Only a few seconds later, however, she hears a shriek that stands out from the rest. Because she recognizes it. 

“Ingrid! Eyes on Annette?” She calls up to the pegasus knight.

“This way!” she calls back after a moment of searching, abruptly turning slightly to the left. 

A moment later, the red-head comes into view, looking far more distressed than Byleth has ever seen her. There’s a panic running wild in her tear-laden eyes, hands shaking as she all but grabs her teacher by the arms for support.

“Professor!” she shouts, voice cracking as she tries to hold herself together. “It’s...it’s Felix, he’s…” 

Perhaps it’s cold of her to rip her arms away from her clearly traumatized student, but this is a battlefield. There’s no time for comfort or hesitation. Particularly if Felix is in trouble.

Or any of her students, she oddly has to remind herself. 

She darts the direction that Annette had just come from, practically flying around the edges of each collapsing building as she passes until she makes it to the clearing. 

That’s where she stops dead in her tracks, grip on her sword nearly slipping entirely at what she sees. The Death Knight is indeed there, having descended from the steps at the back of the town. An ambush. One that has Ashe slumped against a nearby building, clutching a bloody wound at his side. That has Dimitri walking straight towards the masked rider with lance drawn, uncaring that he’s clearly outmatched by his opponent. That has Sylvain practically diving off his horse and screaming for Mercedes as he rushes to a body on the ground, surrounded by blood and limp as a ragdoll when Sylvain tries to lift it. 

Felix.

Her stomach is suddenly in her throat. She’s turned back time to protect her students from grave injuries, or because a plan of hers did not pan out as she thought it should.

She’s never _lost_ one of them. And while she’s not close enough to check for a pulse or breathing...She knows a corpse when she sees one. She can tell by the way his body hangs from Sylvain’s arms, the gravity of his wounds, the amount of blood and how it no longer flows out of his body.

This can’t happen. 

Time stops, the colors of her surroundings inverting to darkness as she rewinds again. Scenery flies by in a chaotic haze, a sensation that had nearly made her ill the first few times she used Divine Pulse for more than a few seconds. Her control on it is better now, more precise as she turns back time. Part of her feels guilty for ‘wasting’ it so many times before when something this grave could happen...she knows the power isn’t limitless. But she stifles whatever regret she might have with the knowledge that using it so frivolously before has allowed her to master it more and more. 

So that when something like _this_ happens, she can make sure she prevents it.

The movement begins to slow, before time freezes once again, and when the color returns, she finds herself chasing down the feral villager from before. There is no hesitation when she stops in her tracks, immediately turning on her heel to backtrack. There’s a good chance she’s leaving the fleeing townsperson for dead, but these are the decisions she’s had to learn to make from an early age. Decisions that are as strategic as they are selfish. 

The path to the ambush is clear in her mind, her feet carrying her as fast as they possibly can. But before she can make it there, she hears Annette’s shriek again and her heart drops.

 _She wasn’t fast enough_. 

But she pushes on anyway, in case she can still stop it. Breaking into the clearing she rushes into the fray, only to see that Felix is already on the ground near the stone steps. The crescent sickle in the Death Knight’s hands flies forward, ripping a gash into Ashe’s side as he calls out in pain and staggers back.

 _Again_. She taps back into the power gifted to her by Sothis, she reverses time again.

The same failure. 

But there isn’t time to stop and strategize. The longer she waits, the more time she wastes and won’t be able to go back further. Another backtrack, she tries to go further…

 _She fails_. Another sprint leads her to Ingrid, she tells her to go back and help Felix. 

Ingrid falls to the Death Knight just after Felix does. 

Reality distorts to darkness again, Byleth feels her blood pump with anxiety, fear that she won’t be able to alter this future starts to settle in. The bitter taste of bile rises in her throat and she has to swallow it down, closing her eyes tight as she focuses. _Farther._ She has to go back _farther_. As far as she possibly can. It strains her body to push further back, to keep willing time to backpedal around her as nausea begins to settle in. She ignores it, pushing back until her knees start to feel weak. Up until she nearly blacks out from the rewind. 

Time resumes as normal again, and she has to blink the stars and darkness from her vision, staggering back from the dizzy spell. A pair of hands catch her under the arms before she can fall backward. 

“Steady there, friend,” she hears Yuri’s voice just behind her head. Blinking once more, she sees Hapi has stopped to look at her with a puzzled expression. Byleth wills herself back to her feet, knowing she’s already wasted precious seconds, but she needs to get her bearings. A quick look around reveals that although she’s clearly gained more time, she’s also gained more distance. They’re not far from the entrance to the village, she can see her father clearing a path through the trees ahead. 

“The Death Knight is here,” she says to the two of them, tone uncharacteristically urgent as she sprints forward on unsteady legs that take a few steps to find their bearing. Her arm waves in a circular motion for them to follow, not waiting to see their response, nor answering Hapi as she calls out asking how Byleth could possibly _know_ this. There’s too much ground to cover to do so. She’ll explain later. Maybe. As best she can. 

It takes longer than she hopes to cover the distance, her thighs burn and ache by the time she comes to the clearing, breath coming out heavy and labored. This time when she arrives, she doesn’t stop. She draws the Sword of the Creator as she rushes forward towards where the others are, dangerously close to the steps where she knows the ambush is waiting. 

“PULL BACK!” she shouts, voice bellowing loud enough that she catches all their attention. Felix, Sylvain, Dimitri, Ashe, they all turn to face her, but they don’t move.

 _Damn kids_ , she curses in her mind, not considering that her uncharacteristic panic is what has stunned them in place. **_“NOW!”_ **

As she yells, the villain in question appears at the top of the staircase, barreling down towards the nearest person. Her sword extends, granting her the range she’ll need to attack, prompting Felix to look back. He brings up his own blade in time for a block, but it’s not a strong enough one to fend off the knight’s attack. It’s a critical blow, Byleth doesn’t have time to register the damage past the spray of blood that follows. All she can focus on is connecting the end of her own blade.

The end of the blade-whip strikes the Death Knight in the shoulder, forcing his arm back and the weapon nearly leaves his hand. She’d been able to take advantage of the opening from his attack on Felix, giving enough pushback that the rest of her students can recover and converge. She rushes over to Felix’s side, calling upon what little Faith magic she knows as she dives to her knees, the fabric of her tights tearing on the rough ground. She rolls him onto his back, breath a pained wheeze as he struggles to find air. But he can’t find it, not with the way his throat has been slashed. Byleth’s hands move to his neck, fingers pressing against the open wound as the glow of white magic emanates out. But the meager healing spell isn’t enough. His eyes glaze over as he stares at her, lips moving in a way that seems to be saying her name, but no voice leaves his lips. Her hands begin to tremble when she realizes that it’s _still_ not enough. No matter how fast she moved, how much time she could get through Divine Pulse, she couldn’t get here in time. His blood coats her hands as she tries to _think_. To think of something else she can do to stop this from happening. She can’t make it to him in time. And she only has one Pulse left to try. She cannot afford to waste it. 

She looks to her students fighting the Death Knight just a few paces away. They have him on the ropes, but won’t get far without help from her or her father. Relying on Hapi’s ability was a double-edged sword, but maybe-

An idea suddenly forms in her mind, one that might have a chance at turning the tides of the ambush. Again, she yanks at Divine Pulse, wrestling it into submission as she forces it to take her back as far as it can go. She fights the daze in her head, the way her legs begin to feel like lead. One hand moves to the side of her skull, fingers wrapping around dark blue hair and tugging just enough to keep herself alert and in control. But even still, there are limits to how far she can swim against time’s flow. 

There’s a hard wall she hits this time, one that gives her whiplash as she’s thrust back into real-time. The limit is up, at least until enough time passes for that power to recharge. She has to make the most of this final opportunity. 

If she can’t get to him in time…

Then she’ll make him come to _her_. 

She’s back at the same starting point as the last rewind, with Yuri and Hapi at her side. But this time, she manages to keep her footing, only a slight stumble forward. Enough that her companions notice, but not enough to comment on it. Byleth looks up at Hapi, expression stony and tone demanding. “Hapi, I need you to sigh. Now.” 

As expected, the young woman seems reluctant to follow that order. “You sure about that, Chatterbox? I don’t think-”

“I’ll explain later,” Byleth interrupts, struggling to keep her growing alarm under control. “There’s no time right now, just do it.” 

There’s hesitation again, this time she looks to Yuri for some sort of final approval. Thankfully, he recognizes the urgency in Byleth’s tone enough to give a nod. Reluctant as she is, and understandably so, Hapi finally nods, before letting out a heavy sigh.

Within a few moments, a screech from overhead pierces through the air. The three look up in time to see a massive bird-like monstrosity swoop down at them. Byleth ducks down, the gust of wind from its mighty wings sending her hair and clothes flapping about the air around her. The earth beneath them rumbles like a distant crash of thunder as the creature lands only a short distance away from them, head rearing back in agitation. 

“Welp,” Hapi muses, rising to her feet again as she gives a rather exasperated gesture to the beast. “There you go. Don’t say I never did anything for you.” 

It’s too early to say if her strategy has worked, but Byleth can only hope that it does. Readying her blade once more, she launches an attack, Hapi and Yuri quick on the follow-up. Within moments, Jeralt and Ingrid have arrived as backup. It’s enough to keep the avian at bay, but not much else. Byleth holds the front line, but the distraction of keeping an eye out for others leaves her preoccupied and open. A sweeping talon sails towards her as she looks to the north again, and it slices through her arm below her shoulder. Her breath hitches from the stinging pain. It’s not her sword arm, at least, but she’ll be no good with a bow until it heals. It staggers her, but again she looks to the north. She sees Ashe, Dimitri, Sylvain as they burst through the trees to back them up. It’s a relief, but she can’t calm her racing pulse, she can’t focus yet.

And it nearly costs her. A gust of wind from its wings blows back most of the group, but Byleth’s low stance keeps her footing in place. The arm she holds out in front of her face is not enough to counteract the dirt and debris the gust blows into her eyes. She flinches, looking away as the dust blinds her momentarily, defensively holding her blade in a last-ditch attempt to make sure she doesn’t lose her head until she can recover. She tries to blink the dirt away quickly, turning back to fight as she hears it moving closer, but she can’t get a good visual on it with the way her sight is blurred. There’s another ear-splitting screech, but the caliber is different. She sees a dark blur in front of her, but can’t identify it until it speaks.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Felix shouts, clearly criticizing her unusually lackluster fighting attempts. But all she can do is breathe a sigh of relief as she rubs the dirt from her eyes with the heel of her palm, clearing her vision enough to see what happened. Felix is standing in front of her, giving her a look of frustrated confusion. But he’s standing. The only blood on him is the blood that lines his sword from where he’d sliced off the giant bird’s foot. Having lost its balance, it had fallen back and was easily beset by the others to finish it off. 

“Thanks,” she says plainly, ignoring his question. He seems irked by that, but knows now isn’t the time for an interrogation. She’s thankful for that, too. She doesn’t have time for an explanation. She needs to group everyone together and get them into position if they have any chance of taking out the Death Knight, as well as whoever else was responsible for this disaster.

* * *

By the time it’s all over, there are more questions than there are answers. Tomas was not Tomas at all, but some dark mage named Solon. The Death Knight had gotten away _again._ Dimitri was...bordering unhinged. The look in his eyes looked like he was only tethered by a rusted chain ready to snap at any given moment. She offered a few words, but they didn’t seem to get through. She chews on the inside of her lip as the survivors trek through the wreckage of the town back to Garreg Mach. She and her father survived. All of her students survived. Not unscathed, but alive. _Felix_ made it out alive. A few church soldiers she didn’t know had perished in the battle, but the outcome could have been much worse considering what they’d all witnessed here.

Byleth marches in silence, looking down at her left hand. Only an hour ago, it had been coated in Felix’s blood. A fact that disturbs her in a way that’s jarringly unfamiliar. She doesn’t care for the feeling of it. Of losing someone she was supposed to protect. Someone she viewed as a friend, in a way, not just as his teacher. If he were not walking a short distance in front of her, she isn’t sure what she would be feeling right now. But the strange amalgamation of muted emotions that try to claw at her consciousness is both pleasant and painful. Relieving and gut-wrenching. 

She’s exhausted.

The sound of crying catches her attention. Glancing to her right for the source, she sees a little girl, no older than ten, kneeling beside a toppled house. She’s wailing, tears streaming down her face as she screams for her father to wake up. Her hands shake a corpse, the gesture futile no matter how desperate. Byleth wishes she would have looked away then. Wishes she would have ignored it instead of looking at the man’s face. The face of the man who had been chased by the ravaging civilian when Byleth had decided to forego that chase in favor of saving Felix. 

Blue eyes dart away, back to the path ahead. Back at Felix. There is no going back now, not even if she wanted to. Dwelling on it will make her weak, the guilt will slow her down. She’s killed fathers and sons and mothers and daughters before. It was part of being a mercenary. Being an assassin. She can’t afford to be dragged down by a decision that would have cost someone a life either way.

But she’s still human, however calloused and desensitized she is to violence and death. There’s still a painful pang in her chest knowing that her decision to save Felix may be what caused that girl to lose her father. Perhaps this is why mortals aren’t given the power to control time. To play goddess and decide who lives or dies. 

Byleth feels remorse for the fate of the girl’s father...but she does not feel regret for her decision. She cannot afford to.

**~Felix~**

_What the hell was that?_

It’s all that can go through his head for the journey back. Even as they arrive back at the monastery. Even as he hits the training dummy with a wooden sword despite the burning in his arms from overuse. Byleth was an unmatched fighter. Felix was the best in his class with a blade, and in all their bouts he couldn’t even _touch_ her. He envied her as much as he admired her for her skill.

So what the hell was her problem on the battlefield earlier that day? He understands being blinded, that part isn’t his concern. He was glad he was able to move quickly enough to stop the bird from getting another strike at her while she was at a disadvantage. 

But before that. The shriek of the monstrous bird had stolen his attention, had prompted him and the others to backtrack and provide backup against the unexpected foe. He’d seen her through the trees, seen her from the other side of the creature when he flanked it. She was distracted. Careless. Clumsy. She kept taking her eyes off her opponent and looking to the north. What was she even looking _for?_ As far as he’s concerned, all she did was keep leaving herself open for attack. It was so...unlike her. He always watches her fight when he can. She _never_ takes her focus off the enemy. So what was it that had her so distracted? She could have gotten herself _killed_ fighting like that!

Taking his frustrations out on the training dummy has left some impressive notches, but he doesn’t bother to notice. What he does notice, is how much it _bothers_ him that she could have gotten killed. Granted, he hates the thought of any innocent people or his allies dying. There’s something about _her_ specifically falling in battle that bothers him more than he expects.

Because she’s such a strong fighter...that must be it. Because if she could fall on the battlefield, then so could he. So could everyone else. That has to be the reason.

It’s late. He’s tired. He should sleep, he knows this. He lingers at the training grounds anyway. Predictable of him, perhaps that’s how she knew he was there when she shows up.

He banishes that thought. It’s the training grounds, Byleth comes here for her own purposes regularly. Her arrival doesn’t mean that she was looking for him. 

She just stands there, though. Outside the ring, watching as he goes back to his training exercises. She doesn’t move towards the training blades, doesn’t challenge him to a spar. He’s used to her observing his technique, but she usually only does that from the sidelines during class. Felix pauses, turning to look at her with mild annoyance. “What?” 

“Nothing,” she says. It doesn’t feel like a lie, she wasn’t a liar. But it doesn’t seem like the whole truth either. “Just couldn’t sleep.” 

It’s all too easy to fall into the same routine as always, the same pattern when he sees her. He lifts his training blade, pointing it to her in a challenge. “Spar with me, then.” It was the easiest way for him to communicate with anyone. The only thing that really felt comfortable with other people some days. And he finds that she speaks the language best. Before her, it was just Jeritza. And it turned out that the bastard was a vicious serial killer who abducted women at night. He still shudders at the reminder.

Usually, Byleth is one to oblige him in a fight. But this time she hesitates, like something is bothering her. He glances at her shoulder to see that it’s still not entirely healed. It’s not the arm she uses to wield a blade, though.

“Tomorrow,” she promises. It’s enough to make him lower his sword for now. But if she hadn’t come here to train or spar...what _was_ she doing _here_? 

“I saw it today,” she says before he can ask his silent question. Before he can voice the one he would have follow-up her statement with. “That dark side of Dimitri you always mention.”

He doesn’t mean to scoff at her, it just comes out. He can scarcely help it when this topic comes up. But at least this time it’s not someone making _excuses_ for the man. “About time,” he mutters, just loud enough for her to hear despite the bit of distance between them. “So, you believe me now then?”

“I always believed you,” she says so plainly that it nearly knocks the wind out of him. His eyes widen, darting back to stare at her in disbelief, as if she was trying to deceive him. She’s unreadable as ever, but again, he reminds himself...Byleth was not a liar. But after so many years of _no one_ taking him seriously about it, it still comes as a brutal shock. He wonders if maybe it’s his own ears that deceive him, that he’s just hearing what he’s wanted to hear for _years_. She couldn’t possibly know _why_ he felt this way about Dimitri. People who were _there_ during that rebellion didn’t even understand. So how could _she?_

He’s rendered silent long enough that she speaks again to break the silence. “You’re good at seeing what most people cannot. We found who the Death Knight was because of your judgment.” 

A huff leaves his nose and a slight smile appears on his face, but they're empty, there's no joy or humor behind them. It had just been a hunch. He hadn’t put that much stock in it, thinking the man’s change in swordplay had simply been the result of some other external stress. It wasn’t until Flayn had been reported missing and Byleth had gone around asking people if they’d noticed anything strange. It wasn’t that Felix suspected Jeritza was the kidnapper or the Death Knight, only that he might have known something about it and it was affecting his swordplay. 

However...He’d told her about Dimitri long before the incident with Jeritza. _I always believed you_ , the words play over in his head. They still feel like a mind trick. Like it’s too good to be true. So rather than take refuge in that, he tries to find the grounding point. “Then why haven’t you done anything about it?” That bitterness that laces his tongue leaves an equally bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

The shift in her expression is barely noticeable. Only the slightest furrow of her brow, the subtlest downward turn at the corners of her mouth. “I am not a psychologist,” she replies, tone a bit colder than before. “And this is only the first I’ve actually seen of it beyond the surface. What would you have me do?”

He looks away at that, realizing the unfairness of his question. What was she supposed to do? Throw him in a cage when he hadn’t acted as anything but honorable and chivalrous on the monastery grounds? When literally _no one else_ saw him as a danger to them, or to Dimitri _himself_. Her question is rhetorical, he knows that. Because nothing _can_ be done. Not yet. But he can’t shake the fear that if they wait too long to act, it could be too late.

“Nevermind,” he grunts, returning the training blade to the weapon rack. He should go to sleep anyway. Especially if she plans to keep her promise to spar with him tomorrow. He’s aggravated, and though it’s not with Byleth, he unintentionally takes his frustration out on her. Just as he’s about to pass by her on his way out, he pauses, noticing how she hasn’t so much as moved, just watches him. It’s...a little odd. She doesn’t watch him like a predator or a guard or a spectator, but more like she’s searching for something. “Was that all you wanted to say?” he asks impatiently.

“Your brother. Did he ride a horse?” She blinks, somehow asking such a random thing so casually.

He resists the urge to flinch at the sudden mention of his brother, but there is a flash of ire in his eyes. “Yes. He was a Paladin. _Why_?”

She doesn’t say anything, just looks down and digs in the pocket of her shorts for a moment before she pulls something out. He raises a brow skeptically, unsure what she’s doing until she holds her hand out, palm up and fingers open. Immediately, his eyes widen, glare dissipating as he sees that small, star-shaped bit of black metal resting in her hand. The iron spur that had once belonged to his brother. The one that he had lost recently and couldn’t find _anywhere_. Orange eyes dart up from the spur in her hand to her face, mouth opening slightly in surprise.

“I found it in the dining hall, the morning that we left to fight off the bandits in your territory,” she tells him. “I didn’t make the connection until tonight. I remember seeing the armor of the other knights in Fraldarius, and you telling me your brother used to be one. You seemed to be looking for something earlier, I figured it might be this.” 

His throat feels dry, but he swallows that uncomfortable vulnerability. It’s not something he likes for anyone to see. Carefully, he takes the metal from her hand, his prior frustrations forgotten. At least for the moment. This was the one thing from his brother that he could carry with him. To remind himself of the time that Glenn had been alive, rather than the ‘noble death’ everyone else seemed to focus on. Like his _father_. 

She lowers her hand back down, and he realizes how strange it had felt. Calloused, as he expected. But _cold_. Perhaps it’s just the chill of the night air. His expression has softened now, and he gives her a genuine nod of appreciation. He hadn’t thought to thank her for the Aegis Shield in time, he wouldn’t make the same mistake again tonight. 

“Thank you,” he tells her, putting the spur back into his own pocket. He’ll have to find a leather cord somewhere, perhaps loop it through the spur and hang it on his neck under his coat. That would keep it from becoming lost again. 

Her ever stoic expression hardly shifts as she gives a quick nod in return. There are no more words exchanged between them before she turns to leave, and his feet feel leaden in place. He could curse himself for being so calloused with her all the time after everything she’s done for him. But he doesn’t know how to be any other way. He vows to change that.

 _You’re good at seeing what most people cannot_. He remembers those words. He remembers how her face and voice had hardly altered no matter how he spoke to her. How ironic that she commends him for his ability to read other people when he can’t read her worth a damn. 

He’ll change that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'm keeping up with this one. I have so many plans hehe.
> 
> I paid too much attention to where and when you find the Black Iron Spur lost item in my last playthrough for this very purpose lol.
> 
> also this whole bit with Saint Seiros creating people is me and some friends collaborating ideas because we didn't really get the details on that whole bit in lore, now did we? lol


	3. Arc I: Academy - 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day of happiness at the Garreg Mach ball...before everything goes to hell.

**~Byleth~**

“Goddess above, who cuts your hair?” 

Yuri sounds positively revolted by the state of Byleth’s locks, threading the blue strands through his fingers the way one might pull their hand away from a spiderweb. She’s never been bothered by it, though. It was short enough to be manageable but also long enough to pull back if she needed to. The fact that there were uneven ends didn’t matter to her. “Jeralt.” 

“What does he use, a _dagger_ ?” The way the scoff rolls off his tongue is all the hint she needs to know that he is expecting... _hoping_ the answer is ‘no’.

“Yes,” she offers. There’s no reason to turn around and see his reaction. She can tell by the sudden silence and the slight shift in the way her hair rests in his hand that his head is tilted back to the sky, likely closing his eyes with silent sigh of exasperation and muttering something to the goddess along the lines of, _did I honestly expect anything else?_

Though Byleth’s lips remain a placid line despite her inward amusement, the upward twitch of Hapi’s mouth reflects a similar sentiment. “It’s not _that_ bad, Yuri-bird.” Standing up from her seat with the enthusiasm of someone who’s just been assigned laundry duty, she strides over to them and moves behind where Byleth is seated. “Just take care of her make-up, I’ll handle her hair.” Another set of slender fingers work their way through the blue strands. “If I let you work on her until it meets your standards, she’ll miss the whole damn party.” 

Yuri doesn’t put up any argument, she watches as he reappears in his peripherals to retrieve a few things from the bag he’d laid on her desk when they arrived. Hapi’s nails drag lightly across her scalp as she eases any remaining knots out of her hair with her fingers. A passing thought tells Byleth it feels soothing, until a tangle catches and it yanks her head back a bit.

“Gentle-now, Hapi,” Yuri’s soothing voice calls as he turns around with a few brushes and a makeup pallet in hand. “The professor here may have thick skin, but I am not going to be happy if I have to do her eyeliner more than once.” Casually pulling a stool over to sit in front of her, fingertips tapping under her chin to lift it just enough that Byleth is eye-level with him. “So tell me, friend. What color do you think suits you best?”

He asks it like it’s a question, but knowing him, he already has his answers in mind. But rather than play his game when she knows she’s entirely out of her element, she simply answers with her own preference. “Black.” 

Amusement coats his already present smile, as if he knew exactly what she would say. Well, she supposes he did. It’s his job to read people, and she’s never exactly worn much else on the color spectrum. “It certainly does, that’s why that dress is so bewitching on you.” 

Her eyes flit downward, taking another look at the dress once more. It was a soft, heavy fabric that hugged her curves and draped nicely over her hips when she stood. The neckline wasn’t exactly modest, though it might have been on another woman. The off-the-shoulder straps proved to be far more decorative than functional or comfortable for her tastes. But at least the slit that seems to travel all the way up her leg allows for more mobility, which makes her more at-ease, considering she’s never worn something so elegant. And she certainly doesn’t _own_ anything nice enough to wear to a fancy Ball. She hadn’t really even intended on attending at all until she saw how disappointed her students were when she said that in class the afternoon prior. 

So, she’d gone to Manuela to borrow something, and this was the dress she felt she’d be most at ease in. Manuela’s tastes were generally more... _colorful_ and ostentatious as one would expect from a former opera star. 

_“Every girl needs an elegant black dress,”_ she’d said, in that playful, lilted tone of hers. Her excuse for owning it despite her claim that black ‘wasn’t her color’, whatever that meant. Manuela would look beautiful in black, much like anything else. Though Byleth’s statement of such had simply been a matter-of-fact observation, Manuela had certainly giggled and waved her hand at it like it was flattery. 

Oh well. It would do fine for a night. She’ll admit that it was rather comfortable to wear. 

_‘ You go through all this trouble to look nice...and yet you choose to wear the same tawdry boots you trample mud and bone with to dance on a ballroom floor? ’_

Of course Sothis would have something to say about all this. - _I cleaned them first. If I’m going to be on my feet all night, I’m wearing comfortable shoes. -_

_‘ You washed your boots, you say. But what of your hair? ’_

\- _Nope. -_ Byleth resists the urge to smile at Sothis’s exasperated sigh. In her defense, she hadn’t _asked_ anyone to help her with her hair or makeup. Yuri had simply insisted and Hapi tagged along.

“-But I think you have enough black on you as it is. I’m here to make you look ethereal, not ghostly,” Yuri continues, interrupting her train of thought. “So let’s try a little color instead, shall we?” He looks at her expectantly. Ugh, why couldn’t he just _tell_ her what color he was going to use? He’s the makeup expert.

What would look good on her? She overheard conversations about being a ‘winter’ or an ‘autumn’, but she doesn’t have a damn clue what any of it means. Color...color...She doesn’t really _do_ color. Unless you include her hair and eyes.

“...Blue?” Clearly she’s guessing now, rather than choosing. At least blue would match the rest of her face?

The breathy laugh he offers in response makes it clear that’s _also_ the wrong answer. “Well, we also want you to look like you are getting enough oxygen in your body.” But it seems he takes mercy on her now, perhaps due to the displeased purse of her lips. Or, perhaps that was from the feeling of a pin stabbing the back of her skull when Hapi tried to push her hair up. Maybe both. Yuri takes one of the smaller brushes and swirls the brush into one of the pallets. “We’re going to use gold. It will add a bold, yet elegant touch to the black, and warm up your features. Now close your eyes, and try not to flutter those lashes~”

She does as she’s instructed, and patiently waits for the two of them to finish their work. They talk amongst each other, but anytime Byleth moves her mouth, Yuri shushes her not to move her face. Eventually, she’s allowed to open her eyes and finds herself looking into a small mirror. She blinks once, brows raising a bit. In truth, she’d been a little worried about getting dolled up, this was all...severely different from her usual. But somehow Hapi has found a way to pin up only half of her hair in a way that gives the illusion of soft curls, lining it with two small braids that pull towards the back of her head. The shimmer of gold over her eyelids and darkened lashes compliment her rather well but aren’t so overdone as to make her look caked in it. Her head tilts to the side, examining their handiwork. It...feels a little odd. She doesn’t feel like she looks like herself, but that could just be because she’s never seen herself with makeup or nice hair. She’d probably think similarly if she ever saw Yuri with bedhead and a freshly washed face, simply because she’s never seen him look anything less than meticulously put together. 

“If you hate it, just lie to me. That’s the best I got,” Hapi shrugs behind her. 

A small smile draws to Byleth’s face. “No, it’s nice. Just...different than what I’m used to.” Eyes move from the mirror to Yuri. “I’m surprised you didn’t try to put goop on my lips.”

She notices the slight twitch of his lip at her choice of verbiage (an intentional choice. If he’s going to mess with her, she’s going to do it right back). “Wouldn’t waste it on you,” he quips, extending a hand and pulling her to her feet. “Not when the moment we arrive you’ll make a beeline for the refreshments table and ruin it immediately.”

He’s not wrong in the slightest. Though, she doesn’t dare get her hopes up too much. Chances are there wouldn’t be any liquor at a function full of teenagers and run by a church. Her gaze briefly flits to her desk drawer. Would her flask fit in the bodice of her dress? 

Nevermind. Best not to bring it, even if the prospect of being in a crowd and likely being pulled into dancing sober is a troubling thought. Especially since she doesn’t know _how_ to dance. “We?” she asks instead. Hapi wasn’t going, she’d been clear about as much since she’d ‘ _gotten her fill of dancing at the White Heron Cup_ ’, clearly still miffed about being chosen as the representative. Maybe she wouldn’t have been so bitter about it if she’d won, but Dorothea had wiped the floor with Hapi and even Lorenz. 

“Indeed,” he coos in response, extending a folded arm out to her. “As I will be accompanying you.” 

“Is that so?” Byleth questions, but wraps a hand around his forearm anyway. “I don’t recall asking for an escort.” 

He smirks. “Perhaps you’d prefer to arrive alone and be immediately beset by all your oh-so-enamored students? I’m sure they would each gladly wait their turn to drag you onto the dance floor~” 

A snort of a laugh rings out behind her, Hapi no doubt enjoying the karma of such a situation. 

“And the benefit for you?” Byleth inquires, knowing how this works.

His smirk widens just slightly as he moves to guide her out the door. “Why, being the envy of everyone, of course.” 

“Yeah, you two have fun with that,” Hapi drawls behind them, unenthusiastically, “...bring me back some snacks.”

* * *

In truth, she’d been unsettled by the thought of the attention she would get when she arrived, particularly when she looks rather put-together for once. However, arriving ‘ _fashionably late_ ’ as Yuri had put it, just means there are more people to notice when she does arrive on his arm. 

It’s _far_ too many eyes on her. She’s torn between the desire to bolt and the absolute refusal to be so affected by the challenge of a new situation. Already she regrets not sneaking the flask in, but it’s too late now.

And though Yuri’s offer had suggested that his presence at her side would deter overwhelming attention, it doesn’t seem to have worked. She remained a wallflower as long as she could (which was _not_ long), but once Claude spotted her and quite literally pulled her out onto the dance floor, it was all over. Yuri’s intimidating aura no longer had any effect even standing shoulder to shoulder with her. All she gets is an amused shrug from him whenever someone else asks her for a dance. And how is she supposed to say no to her own students when she let Claude make her look like a fool on the dance floor already? 

So she allows Annette to step on her feet, at least they both looked a little clumsy out there. Really, it wasn’t so bad. 

She allows Mercedes to guide her around and attempt to show her a few moves, which was surprisingly helpful. 

She endures a dance with Sylvain, which went surprisingly smoothly since he led and practically lifted her off the floor with each turn. Other than his usual flirtation attempts, it was manageable, though he does seem to do so a bit louder whenever they pass by Felix. Likely another way for the redhead to get under his more reserved friend’s skin. And it seems to work, but she doesn’t think much of it. 

Despite how... _unhinged_ Dimitri had been days ago, she doesn’t have the heart to acknowledge it when he humbly asks her for a dance, his coy formality and subsequent bow reminding her much more of the day she’d chosen to teach the Blue Lions. It’s a little awkward, but somehow he manages to make it look like she knows what she’s doing when she’s only learned how to dance at all in the last hour. She’s not sure what was more uncomfortable: being unsure of how to speak to him now, or the angry set of orange eyes she can feel boring into the back of her head. If Felix had been exasperated at Sylvain dancing with her, he seemed aggravated when Dimitri did. All she can assume is he feels some sort of betrayal considering her statement that she believed him about the prince. Her own words echo in her head at the memory.

_What would you have me do?_

By the end of that, she’s already exhausted. Mentally. She was having a hard time adjusting to this scene, more so than she’d thought. Socializing, dancing, paying attention to her appearance so she doesn’t mess up her hair or makeup or get strawberry jam and pastry crumbs on Manuela’s dress...or falling down her cleavage. Something about the atmosphere tells her she shouldn’t go digging around in there. She excuses herself, despite the prince’s puppy dog eyes looking at her like she’s just scolded him, a strong contrast to the polite acceptance of her request that he speaks. She retreats to the corner of the room again, grabbing another jelly tart on the way in hopes that maybe if she was eating again, she could get a few minutes of time to herself to recuperate.

The exit is looking more and more appealing by the moment, though.

Her mouth is stuffed when someone does sidle up beside her, leaning against the wall. But the flash of purple in her peripherals eases the tension in her shoulders that had started to build. “I understand why Hapi lost the White Heron Cup now,” Yuri teases. “You’re a skilled teacher of many things, friend, but clearly dancing is not in your repertoire.” 

A mild scoff leaves her as she swallows. “Never said it was,” she retorts. “Actually, I believe at one point I specifically said that it was _not_ .” Though, that had been to Manuela, after she’d learned she’d need to _guide_ whoever she chose to represent the Blue Lions. In truth, she had chosen Hapi to try and unlock some potential she saw there, and while it’s still there, Hapi hadn’t exactly been thrilled enough to tap into it. 

Now she’s probably hanging out in the sauna laughing her ass off at Byleth being pushed into a similarly uncomfortable situation. 

Well played, Hapi. Well played.

“You never mentioned that to me,” he responds plainly, his eyes scanning about the area in that observant manner he always did.

“Figured you already knew.” Byleth leans back, plopping her shoulders back against the wall as she crosses her arms under her chest. “Since you like to unearth whatever you can about people.”

“Come now, friend,” he smiles. “If I helped myself to all your secrets behind your back, I’d miss out on the fun of hearing them tumble from your pretty mouth.”

She smiles as well, just slightly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “What’d you come over here for, anyway?” He’d seemed rather enthralled in a conversation with Ashe across the way. “If you’re going to ask me to dance, you’re going to need to give me a few minutes...or hours.” She’s not ready to back out there yet, if ever again. 

A soft chuckle rumbles in his throat at that. “What a cruel date you are, accepting my invitation and yet refusing to save even a single dance for me.” 

“Well, the last time I accepted an invitation to be your date for the night, I ended up saving your ass from a blood ritual, so I think you’ll let it slide.” Her deadpan expression as she stared straight ahead suggested she might be bitter about it, but after a moment she lets him off the hook with a sideways glance and a flash of a smile. 

“Heh, cruel indeed,” he huffs. “But fair.” His attention drifts back out to the crowd. “A shame, though. I wanted to see if I could make the angry one seethe even more than he did when you danced with his friends~”

Byleth quirks a brow, quickly turning her head and giving him a silent, questioning look.

Yuri does not let his gaze travel to the subject at hand, but it’s clear who he’s referring to. “It would seem he finds it much easier to invite you to a duel than a dance.” The sideways smile he gives her is surely meant to ruffle her feathers, but it takes more than that to make her squirm.

“I promise that he isn’t looking dour because he wants to _dance_ with me,” she scoffs, finding the idea of it rather laughable. She hasn’t seen him dance with anyone all night, and recalls his distaste for the idea of the White Heron Cup. “He’s just annoyed with Sylvain flirting and has issues with Dimitri.” 

“Is that so?” He muses, tone hyperbolic enough to show he’s not convinced. “How curious, then, that he hasn’t seemed to mind when either of them dance with anyone else. Very interesting.” 

Her brow furrows now. She looks across the room to Felix who seems to be...well, doing nothing but frowning off into space. When he turns and catches her gaze, however, he quickly turns away again, looking even more agitated than before. It was...odd, but she’s not quite sure of the reason. Her focus returns to Yuri. “...What’s that supposed to mean?” she inquires, leaning forward to try and get a better look at his face.

“Nothing at all~” he lies in that silken tone, but he’s locked the subject up. Before she has a chance to protest, he speaks again. “I do hope you have at least one dance left in you for the night.”

Byleth sighs, deadpan expression still honed in on the side of his face where he continues to stare across the room away from her. “I’m pretty sure if I asked him to dance he’d be mortified. And I don’t think you deserve one.”

Yuri turns to look at her with mock offense, hand splayed over his chest for further dramatics. “As I said before, _cruel_.” It doesn’t take long for the smirk to return, though. “However, I was not referring to either of us, friend.” He gives a nudge of his head to the side, and Byleth’s gaze follows. There, just halfway across the room, is her father, headed in their direction. He’s still in his usual clothes, not dressed up for a formal event, certainly, but why would he when he’d specifically said he wouldn’t be attending?

Her initial suspicion is that he’s actually there to inform her about something. After all, never in her life has she seen her father dance. He’s likely going off on a mission and wanted to let her know. 

She doesn’t get the chance to state this to Yuri. Before she gets a word out, Jeralt is standing right before them. He gives the briefest glance to Yuri, a nod of acknowledgement that is duly returned. They’ve met, sure, but the gruesome details of how and why Yuri knows Byleth have yet to be disclosed to Jeralt. Blue eyes lift up to meet her father’s gaze, expectant. There’s a softness in his eyes that she’s not all that familiar with. She’s seen it before. Rarely. During the times where he’d reminisce...While they were fishing, or he was speaking about her mother (though he never did give too much detail). She blinks at him, too shocked when he extends a hand to even be miffed about the self-satisfied smirk on Yuri’s face as she realizes he was _right_. 

“Save a dance for your old man, kid?” Even his rugged features couldn’t quite mask the warmth in his lopsided smile. 

Okay. This is the _one_ exception she’ll make for getting back out on the dance floor. She nods, returning the smile as she accepts his hand and follows his lead. She’s a little wary, though. After all, Byleth had just learned to dance in the slightest bit in the last hour or so. Her father? She’s never seen the man dance in all her life. The idea of _leading_ , however...That’s a responsibility she is simply not ready for.

Color her surprised when her father takes the lead like it was second nature. “You clean up nice, kid,” he comments, nudging his head back to where Yuri still stands against the wall. “Your buddy over there responsible, I take it?”

“No, I did it all myself.”

But if there’s one person who can always read her, no matter how deadpan her expression is when she’s joking, it’s her father. He shakes his head, nudging her side in retaliation, but the amusement is clear on his face. “That’s what I get for raising a smartass.” 

A soft laugh leaves Byleth at that. “Sure is. When did you learn to dance, anyway?” She has to ask. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do it.”

“You have, you just don’t remember,” he says as they continue to spin about the floor. “Can’t say I blame you, you were just a sprout. Sometimes it was the only thing I could do to get you to sleep.” 

She doesn’t remember. Not at all. Her memories of childhood were hazy at best, often confused with memories she knows do not belong to her. As a toddler, there’s no way she would recall. But even still, she can picture her tiny self in her father’s giant arms, bouncing gently as he swayed about the room. 

“I used to dance with your mother, actually,” he says afterwards, looking off to the side with a thoughtful gaze. Perhaps he was seeing ghosts of themselves dancing in this very room back when they were here together. Byleth looks up at him again, keeping her face neutral despite how her insides twist in her gut at the mention of her mother. “She loved to dance. Couldn’t really leave the monastery or exert herself too much. She was...a fragile thing. But dancing was one of the things that could pull her away from her books for a while. So I learned for her.”

How odd that all those years, her father had barely spoken of her mother to her. It had been painful for him, she understood. But since arriving at the monastery, he’s slowly been sharing more and more about her. Perhaps it was because he no longer had to hide the truth about their past here. Though...she still doesn’t truly know what parts of it needed to be hidden...and likely still were. 

There’s a vile claw that rakes at her chest, remembering what happened in Abyss. What Aelfric had done...what he’d intended to do...what his actions had done to Sitri’s body. Jeralt doesn’t know. She _knows_ he doesn’t. Because she hasn’t told him. And if Rhea had told him, she can only imagine the heartbreak and sorrow and anger he would have been toiling with. He hasn’t changed, though. He goes about like everything is normal. His skepticism of Rhea and the Church remains cautious and detached, but calm. 

Once he knew the truth, she knew it would rip the rug right out from under him. And their lives would be thrown into turmoil. As much as she doesn’t wish to inflict that pain on him, she can’t leave him in the dark like this. She has to tell him. And she will.

Tomorrow. Let them have this one final night where he can think everything is fine, and she can pretend that it is. Before she shatters the glass. 

Words were never her strong suit. Especially as a child. She’d relied so heavily on nonverbal communication. And despite her gradually improving social skills since arriving here, it’s so natural to fall into old habits with her father. She leans forward, laying her head against his chest as their swaying slows a few paces. She rests it there, closing her eyes with one hand on his shoulder and the other wrapped tight around his own. 

Jeralt’s hand gives hers a gentle squeeze, voice quiet...but it holds every ounce of understanding and affection it possibly could. 

“Love you too, kid.”

* * *

She would never get the chance to tell him. 

It all happened so fast. The morning was instant chaos. Reports of students sneaking into old chapels. Sightings of Demonic Beasts at the same location. It was suspected the same fiends as those at Remire may be involved. There hadn’t been any time to talk, only to mobilize. Jeralt said he had something important to tell her, but that there wasn’t any time. She bites back the urge to echo his words. 

The battle had been brutal. Two of her students had died. Ashe first. Then Dimitri. She had to use divine pulse twice to save the prince. She’d begun to fear that what happened to Felix at Remire could happen here again with any of them. Mercedes was gravely wounded, and Byleth had panicked and pulled time back before it was even clear if she could be saved or not. Was it a waste? Or had it saved her from having to use that final charge? She’ll never know. Mercedes was still badly wounded, but it was clear she would pull through.

By the end of it all, she had one use left. She took comfort in that, at least. It was another victory. She dared to let the tension in her shoulders ease. To let the stress of the battle fade away. 

Then that girl from the Black Eagles class...the one they’d _saved_ from the Death Knight...who they’d saved again _just now..._ the one who’d been attached to Edelgard at the hip ever since…

Pulled out a dagger and _stabbed_ her father in the back. 

The shock of it had ripped the breath from Byleth’s lungs. Ice shoots through her veins, feeling as though she was the one stepping through death’s portal when the blade sunk deep into his flesh.

 _No_ . This is _not_ allowed to happen. Jeralt’s knees barely hit the dirt before Byleth sinks her claws into the fabric of time and wrenches it back. The usual strategic thought process that goes through her head is silent, her actions driven purely by panicked instinct rather than critical thinking. She rips time back enough to see the girl coming. There’s plenty of time for her to interfere, for her to reach. There’s no one even _close_ enough to stop her. As the world resumes around her, Byleth’s iron grip on the Sword of the Creator sends the whiplike edge flying. It will reach, it will kill, it will _end_ it…She doesn’t care who this girl is, why she sought to murder her father, she doesn’t even care how she’ll _explain_ murdering a student who seemingly had done nothing wrong. None of _that_ matters above making sure he _lives_. 

But someone interfered. Her blade is stopped mid-air, _clanging_ against a magic barrier held up by some man...tall, imposing. Grey skin and white hair, dark marks around empty, milk-white eyes. It doesn’t even _register_ to Byleth what has happened at first, adrenaline and shock delaying the imminent _dread_ that shows when her eyes go wide and mouth falls agape.

Again, her father falls. Whatever conversation the two enemies exchanged falls deaf on her ears...all she hears is a painful ringing in her skull. Her feet feel like lead in her boots, arms trembling so fiercely that the tremors run throughout her body. The sword slips from her fingers and lands unceremoniously in the dirt at her side. Only when the two disappear does she finally find the ability to move, but her breath comes in short gasps as she sprints to her father’s side. 

She reaches for Divine Pulse, despite knowing she’s already used the final limit. She grasps nothing. Again, she reaches. Again, nothing.

 _\- Sothis! -_ She shouts in her mind, begging the goddess to give her another chance. To find a way to make it work just _one more time_.

She’s met with somber silence, but she can feel the heaviness in her mind. 

**_\- SOTHIS! -_ ** Her own voice shrieks through her head, desperate for a way to undo this. 

_‘ I am sorry …’_ she hears the goddess reply, voice laden with sorrow. _‘ My power is not without limit, you know this...and it has reached its end for this moment. There is nought that I can do …’_

Byleth shuts her out then. She’ll waste no more time. She hears Dimitri shout for a healer, but she knows that only Mercedes had enough skill to save him, and she was out cold. Still, she falls to her knees at his side, turning him onto his back and wincing at the pained groan that leaves him. 

Never has she seen him struggle like this. Never has seen him so weak.

 _Never_ has she heard him admit defeat. 

_“Sorry...It looks like...I’m going to have to leave you now.”_

The words echo through her head with a searing pain, hands shaking where she holds him. Emotions are not something she’s familiar with. That is not to say she has always felt nothing. She feels sadness and anger and excitement, the same way one might feel rain on their skin or sun on their face. It is there, but it does not affect her. It does not hinder her or drive her or knock her off course. She does not show it, does not express it, does not let it dominate her features.

Now emotion surges through her entire being like a storm swell, grief and fury and agony threatening to drown her and drag her off to sea. It frightens her almost as much as the thought of losing her father. Her only family. The only person she ever depended on besides herself. The only true connection she had. 

Byleth has never felt loss. Now it threatens to consume her. The burning in her eyes causes her vision to go bleary, lips quivering as she fights to find breath in her shaking lungs. 

How is it that he can smile when a tear hits his face? She nearly breaks in half at the sight. 

_“To think the first time I saw you cry...your tears would be for me. It’s sad. And yet...I’m happy for it.”_

“Dad, no...” she snaps, alarmed by the crack in her own voice. As if begging him to stay with her would be enough. Would somehow save his life.

Never has she cried before, no. 

It’s _horrible_. 

_“Thank you, Byleth.”_

A strangled, choking sound leaves her lungs as his final breath leaves his. Once he goes limp in her hands, he slips from her quaking fingers. She’s reminded of the young girl in Remire...the one who’d cried over her father’s corpse the same way she does now. The man she’d let die in order to save Felix. The cruel irony is not lost on her. The floodgates rupture and the mighty weight in her chest becomes unbearable. Byleth hunches forward, face buried into his tunic as she sobs into the fabric, shoulders shaking as she shatters.

How dare the rain have the audacity to mock her sorrow as it begins to pour down her back. 

How dare the world around her move _at all_ …

**~Felix~**

_“You know, you could always ask her to dance with you instead of pouting when she dances with everyone else…”_

Sylvain’s words had aggravated him so much when he’d said them. Felix hadn’t even wanted to _attend_ the damn ball in the first place. He’d been dragged to it by his friends and classmates. They’d been relentless about it, to the point that it would be easier to show up as promised and then sneak away at the first available opportunity. 

He wishes he knew why it infuriated him so much to see her dancing out there. He tried to rationalize it. Remind himself that Sylvain didn’t even like her, was just disrespecting her by toting her around the dance floor like a prize. Remind himself that Dimitri was just a beast, using her to perpetuate his illusion of being a respectable gentleman. Remind himself that although she doesn’t dance with the man from the underground, she does stand near him. Smile at him. And he _hates_ the way the man smiles at her. She arrived on his fucking _arm_ and he’d strutted her around like a trophy even more than Sylvain.

All viable reasons. They make sense in his mind. Because she’s a warrior, a force to be reckoned with. She deserves the respect of the others and he doesn’t believe they give her that. 

So then why was he also agitated when she twirled around with Mercedes and Annette and the house leader of the Golden Deer? At some point he catches her staring at him, but he can’t begin to think of why before he feels his face heating for reasons he can’t explain. By the time her father had shown up, Felix had already abandoned the event for the night. 

He’d known it wouldn’t take long for someone to come looking for him to try and drag him back. So rather than going somewhere predictable, he’d gone to the _last_ place anyone would go looking for him. 

She must have had the same idea. Because Byleth had genuinely seemed surprised to find him in the goddess tower of all places. It had been fine at first, but he’d immediately stumbled. Overcompensated. Sylvain had _just_ been teasing him about some sort of ridiculous _attraction_ to the woman not even an hour ago, and Felix's brain had assumed that if she didn’t expect his pledge to be about beating her, then she must have _also_ been under some illusion that he was smitten with her. 

A fact he knows wasn’t true when she gave him such a distinctively perplexed look on her normally stoic face after he’d told her he was not the man for a passionate affair, that he would always be more comfortable holding a sword than a woman’s hand. Perhaps it had come off harsher than he intended. Telling her to settle being _mistaken_ for being his lover. Where the _hell_ had that come from? 

So why was it that when she shook her head and called it _nonsense_ that he felt _worse?_ Surely he wouldn’t have taken any joy or comfort in seeing her _disappointed_ by his rejection...would he?

All of that was so trivial, though. The confused ramblings of a boy who didn’t understand his own reactions. She was his _teacher_ after all. Why would he assume she had any designs on him? Damnit, it’s Sylvain’s fault. Putting thoughts into his head that have no business being there. He’d take back the whole encounter if he could.

But if he could only take back one sentence…

_“Then I will make you taste defeat!”_

It was harsh enough at the time. Now, it feels like sulfur in his gut. There’s an acrid aftertaste that burns at the back of his throat every time he sees her. Not even twelve hours after he’d told her she’d taste defeat…

Her father had been _murdered_ in front of her. 

And that was the first time he’s ever seen her defeated. 

It robbed him of his sleep that night, the image of her sobbing and broken, hunched over her father’s corpse in the rain. He and Dimitri had gone to collect her, but the haze in her eyes made it clear she didn’t see them. Didn’t see anything. So many times he’d wished her face was more expressive so he could read her easier.

He regrets that wish. Seeing her face so contorted with grief...he barely recognized her. Felix may not be close with his own father, he may not have known Jeralt well, save for a few lost spars the blade breaker had humored him with. But the two seemed close, and she’d mentioned that her father was her only family. 

The pain she feels strikes him so hard. Because it was the same pain he felt when he’d lost his brother. 

A few days pass, and he barely sees her. No one does. She’s holed up in her room, and she almost never comes out. She doesn’t go to the mess hall, the pond, the training grounds, not even class. And though he loathes listening to Hanneman’s seminars, he can’t blame her. She had every right to grieve. There’s a part of him that itches to check on her, to offer condolences or whatever it is people do at times like this...But he doesn’t know _how_. He’s already said cruel things to her last time they spoke, without intending to. What if he did so again? 

What a terrible way to treat someone he held so much respect for…

He’s on his way to the training grounds when he sees Annette knocking at the professor’s door in the distance. All the way from the greenhouse to the last set of stairs, he watches as she rocks nervously on her heels, a plate of food in one hand, the other periodically lifting to knock again. He can’t hear what she’s saying until she gets closer.

“Professor? Professor, you have to eat something, no one’s seen you eat in days…” There’s genuine concern lacing Annette’s tone, enough that Felix comes to a stop, watching to see what would happen. Just how long has she been there trying to get Byleth to open the door? A few moments later, she sighs and turns away, noticing Felix as she does. She starts a bit, almost dropping the food tray, but she recovers. “Oh, hey, Felix. If you were coming to check on the professor, I don’t think she’s ready to talk to anybody yet.”

“You said she hasn’t eaten in days,” he points out, skepticism furrowing his brow. Though he’d never seen her in the mess hall, he’d seen his classmates take food to her. “And you just _let_ her?”

Annette’s face seems equal parts offended and distraught, but she doesn’t seem to have it in her to be angry when she responds. “We’ve _tried_ but we can’t force her to open the door. She wouldn’t even answer when we sent Dimitri. I think she just still needs more time…”

Felix can’t help but seethe at the excuses. Seethe at how she uses Dimitri as an example, as if he was someone Byleth would make an exception for at such a time. He holds out a hand, tone firm and demanding. “Give it to me. I’ll get it to her.” Looking down at the plate, he can already see the stew has gone cold.

Annette hesitates. “I don’t know, Felix. I don’t think she wants to see anyone right now-”

“I’m not _seeing_ her, I’m just going to make sure she eats. Or do you want her to starve herself?” 

She pauses, chewing on the inside of her lip, but she seems to agree. Handing the tray out to him she gives a somber nod, “Alright, just...be nice to her, okay?” 

He grunts, reigning in a sharp retort to that. Curt and dour he may be, but he can’t help but feel offended that she thought he was going in to _scold_ her or something. Taking the tray, Felix turns away from her immediately before going to Byleth’s door himself. He can train tomorrow. Lifting his free hand, he raps his knuckles against the door rather firmly. 

“Professor, you have to eat something.” His tone is firm, but not harsh. When there’s no response, he knocks again. A little harder, voice a little more impatient. “I’m not going away until you open the door.” 

It’s a few more minutes of that, and though he’s beginning to suspect he’ll be wasting his whole evening out here watching bread go stale, he doesn’t intend to give up. But eventually, his tone does change. It’s less adamant, a little calmer, but still steadfast, forehead smacking against the door as he leans against it with a frustrated grimace. “Byleth...I am _not_ leaving. Until you _eat_ something.”

It’s the first time he hears movement on the other side. Standing up straight, he blinks as he hears the lock on the door slide back, a bit...more hastily than he anticipated. A moment later, the door is wrenched open far faster than necessary. His eyes widen, surprised at what he sees. Byleth is standing here, eyes a puffy red from crying and the skin beneath them dark from lack of sleep. But she looks... _angry_. For a moment, he expects her to ream him, to tell him to go away and that her anger is directed at his stubbornness. But instead, she gives a quick nudge of her head, indicating for him to come in. Felix swallows, unsure what is going on, but he obeys. Once inside, she shuts the door behind him. 

“I’m not hungry,” is all she says as she turns around, immediately sitting down at her desk. It’s clear this is where she’d been before he arrived, he can see various papers strewn about its surface, notes and sketches scribbled across them all. 

“Then why let me in?” He mutters. It’s all he can think to say, still trying to make sense of what’s happening. 

She sighs, putting down the pen she’d just begun to write with again. “You said you weren’t going to go away...and I know you wouldn’t.” She leans back in her seat, arms crossed under her chest and glowering up at the ceiling. “And you’re one of the only people I trust to see me like this.”

That was...unexpected. In many ways. Try as he might to wrap his head around it, he can’t. “And what... _is_ ‘this’, anyway?” Her attitude, the papers...the ‘trusting him’ part.

She sighs again, this time it’s more resigned than frustrated. Leaning forward once more to rest her forehead on her palms as her elbows are propped on the desk’s surface. There’s a few moments of silence before she answers, he sets the tray of food down on the dresser beside where he stands. When she does speak, her voice is labored and quiet. “I’m in an anger phase,” she explains. “I...am not used to feeling emotions, and now they’re battling each other. I’ll wake up in the morning in a debilitating depression, and then end up _pissed_ by the evening. Or vice versa.” Dropping her hands, she folds her arms on the desk and turns her gaze to him. “People expect the former…but not the latter. And if the wrong person sees me like this, they’ll try to put some sort of security detail on me or counsel me or some other bullshit that I want no part of.” 

There’s a pause, a tinge of regret in her face, like she’s said too much. “So...don’t tell anyone you saw me...if you have to, just say I...cried a lot or some shit,” the heel of her palm wipes at the bottom of her eye before she picks up her pen again and goes back to her papers. “It’s not really a lie.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” he responds, voice lacking it’s usual harshness, somehow. Perhaps it’s because he’s still caught so off guard by her state. Not only because he’s never seen her so emotional, but also she so blatantly and plainly admits she _has_ emotions, rather than burying them like he so often does. “But as I said. I’m not leaving until you eat something.”

“Then you better get comfortable,” she grumbles, not looking away from her papers as she continues to scribble on them. 

Felix snorts in irritation, but doesn’t fight her on it. Though she appears more angry than sad at the moment, the redness of her eyes isn’t lost on him. He hasn’t forgotten what she’s just been through. He recalls his grief and anger mixing in the oddest of ways after Glenn’s death. Patience is key here, but stubbornness won’t allow him to break his word and leave her be. So instead he strides across the room and settles on the window bench at the back, sitting down and waiting. 

But sitting in silence is not something that Felix cares for. It’s wasteful, unproductive. It does neither of them any good. His index finger taps restlessly against his knee where his hand rests. After a few minutes, he chooses to break that silence. “What are you writing?” It clearly wasn’t lesson plans. 

“Notes,” she huffs. It doesn’t seem like she’s willing to elaborate for a moment, but after giving him a sideways glance, it appears she’s changed her mind...Even if her words are still hesitant. She turns back to the papers and continues to write as she speaks. “Something isn’t right. _Three_ enemies have infiltrated the monastery under suspicious or vague circumstances and I’m tired of waiting for the people running this place to get their head out of their asses and figure out what the fuck is going on.” 

His brows raise at that. No wonder she’d been hesitant to speak. Frankly, he’s never heard _anyone_ speak so blatantly against the church like this, particularly not under their roof while working for them. It seems she’s decided to trust him with this as well. He makes a silent vow not to break that trust.

It’s not like he’s ever been a fan of the church, anyway.

He hesitates only a moment. “...What have you found so far?”

Byleth pauses, putting the pen down now, mood seeming to shift back to something more somber as she slumps in her chair. “Nothing concrete, yet.” She sighs, leaning back as she folds her arms under her chest, staring blankly down at the surface of her desk. “Lots of speculation. Tomas was actually some dark mage named Solon, it turns out. But I remember someone mentioned that he’d been gone for a year before returning after serving the monastery for years. They think this is a long-con, I do not. Not after that _girl_ showed up after supposedly also being missing for a year…” She doesn’t say her name, but the amount of venom in her tone makes it clear she’s referring to Monica. “I don’t doubt for a moment that she’s another one of these bastards under the guise of a friendly face. Whatever is going on, it’s only been put into motion in the last year. And they’re moving quickly.” 

Felix nods. He...hadn’t put much thought into it. Only because he’d been distracted by the more immediate, obvious threats. He wasn’t one for schemes or hidden plots. Though he knows her to be a tactician, and underhanded and stealthy in her tactics, she didn’t strike him as a schemer either. The man from the underground whom she’s always hanging around, however…

“You think the church is involved?” He asks skeptically, restraining himself from bringing up Yuri.

“No. I just don’t trust them to handle it.” Turning in her seat, she crosses one leg over the other. Stone-faced, she stares at him in a scrutinizing manner that _almost_ makes him shift in his seat. Head tilting to the side, her brow furrows. “How well do you know Edelgard?”

Felix blinks, one brow raising in response to her question. “Not well. Why?”

“That girl was like her shadow ever since she showed up.”

“So I noticed,” he agrees, seeing where she’s going with this train of thought, but unsure of what it could mean. But he feels the need to build on it, to see if it’s of any help. After all, she’d once said that his instincts had helped them figure out Jeritza was the culprit, and he hadn’t even been sure. He feels unsure now as well, but silence seems like a foolish choice. “I remember something about her claiming it was so she could ‘catch up’ and graduate, but it doesn’t explain the secrecy. They often skulked around the training grounds, and anytime I got too close, they’d give me a sideways glance and go quiet.” He crosses his arms, looking up to the ceiling, fingers tapping idly against his arm. “The noble girl from the Golden Deer...Claude’s friend...she mentioned to me once that the girl’s personality was completely different from when she disappeared before...And that she didn’t seem at all traumatized despite being imprisoned and missing for a year.” He looks back at Byleth, still piecing everything together. “That never sat well with me. No one gets over trauma in a day. Particularly not of that caliber...You think Edelgard is involved?” It’s a bold assumption to make, but...not as far-fetched as he might have originally thought.

“That...or she’s equally suspicious and trying to figure it out on her own.” It was a good point, Edelgard hadn’t seemed a devout believer in the church. Perhaps she was taking matters into her own hands much like Byleth was...But it was too early to say. 

He opens his mouth to speak again, but is interrupted by the sound of rapid knocking on the door. They both look up toward the door, startled by the interruption. But though he does recognize the voice, it’s the first time he’s heard it sound more urgent than sly. “Byleth, open up.” 

As if the man’s presence wasn’t irritating enough, Felix seethes when she immediately gets up to open the door. She won’t answer for food unless Felix threatens to stay out there all night, but Yuri just tells her to open the door and she does? 

It angers him so much.

The door opens and the man steps in, blinking once at Felix, but otherwise not acknowledging him before he returns his attention to Byleth. This is the first time Felix has seen him look concerned or conflicted...anything other than the smug confidence he usually airs about. 

“Rhea’s making plans to bury your father.”

Though her back is turned to him, Felix sees the way Byleth’s shoulders tense. “...I told her to have him cremated.”

Yuri nods, mouth twisting in disgust. “I _know_. She says that cremation is desecration of the body...and that before he died, he’d requested to be buried...in the plot next to your mother.”

“My mother isn’t _in_ that plot,” Byleth growls, but there’s a note of desperate anger lingering under her words. “Rhea _knows_ that. She’s the _reason_ Sitri isn’t there. He _didn't_ know that...” 

Felix looks back and forth between the two of them. Clearly there’s something he’s missing and either they trust him enough to not send him away, or they’re simply too preoccupied to care. But there’s something about the mood of the exchange that has his own anger boiling. Byleth felt _betrayed_ , he can hear it in her voice. Yuri seems to know exactly what’s happening. _Rhea_ had something to do with it. He can’t shake the feeling that this has something to do with those weeks back in the Verdant Rain Moon. The days where Byleth seemed distressed and distracted, dark circles under her eyes, was never spotted above ground aside from during class...The weeks he found out later that she and Dimitri and Ashe and others had been down in Abyss for goddess knows what reason. He knew something went down, but not _what_. No one dared speak of it. 

What the _fuck_ was going on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I hurt you by making you read this, please remember that I hurt MYSELF having to WRITE it lmao.  
> Sad dad stuff absolutely rends me.
> 
> Anyway, happy saturday~ There was one more scene planned for this but I'm gonna push it to the next chapter to make them more even. mwah


	4. Arc I: Academy - 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the loss of her father, Byleth begins to comes to terms with the gravity of her situation...and has to learn more about who - or what - she really is.

**~Felix~**

The altercation had been a haze. Like a fever dream of some distorted reality that he wasn’t sure if it was real or a hallucination. Felix had been frozen in place when Yuri had told her about Rhea’s plans to bury Byleth’s father in the grave next to her mother’s...but her mother wasn’t there? Something to do with something Rhea had done? Frankly, he’d expected to be forgotten about and left in the dust when Byleth all but plowed past the messenger, no doubt to confront the archbishop. That is, until Yuri looked straight at Felix, a sharp nudge of his head to the side an obvious indication he was advising him to follow, before turning and following Byleth’s path.

He was shocked for only a moment, but there was no time to overanalyze the reasons or details. Felix followed close behind.

The red-haired girl had intercepted them, advising that the archbishop was in the audience chamber before she brought up the rear of their small line-up. Sure enough, Rhea was there in her office, speaking with Seteth about something. By the time he and Hapi had caught up, Byleth was already in an argument with the woman. It was...surreal to witness. Byleth’s voice was even, controlled...It showed no ounce of the pain or desperation that would suggest the woman was _grieving_. But it held a livid weight to it, one that sent a chill down his spine. A similar darkness that he’d heard line the boar prince’s tone as he was losing his grip. 

He’ll never forget the look on the archbishop’s face. The eerily warm mask she always seemed to wear around the students was gone, both tone and expression holding an ill-concealed rage at Byleth’s _‘insubordination’_ as she called it. He remembers the way the woman had looked at him, as if shocked to see that he was there. It made her _angrier_ , she’d scolded Byleth for bringing _‘students’_ into the affair. Byleth hadn’t so much as acknowledged that comment. He can only recall bits and pieces of the argument, feeling like an outsider despite Yuri’s request he follow. He still doesn’t understand _why_ he’d been pulled along.

_“He’s_ **_my_ ** _father. If he knew what happened in Abyss, he’d want to be cremated.”_

 _“I will_ **_not_ ** _defy the laws of the goddess and desecrate your father’s body by burning it.”_

_“I don’t think you know how to separate the will of the goddess from your own.”_

_“I suggest you watch your tongue, professor. You mean a great deal to me, but I will_ **_not tolerate_ ** _such blasphemy to be spoken.”_

_“So I’ve seen when you dealt with the Western Church…”_

There had been a tense silence at that, Seteth’s face lined with shock as his mouth went agape, Rhea’s expression struggling to reign in building anger.

_“Jeralt was like family to me, as well, dear professor. Shortly after your arrival here, he told me should anything happen to him, he wished to be buried beside her. I am only honoring_ **_his_ ** _wishes.”_

 _“And you never saw fit to tell him that she wasn’t there. He’s been visiting an_ **_empty grave_ ** _since we came here and you didn’t think to inform him that you’d taken her body to some underground chamber so that_ **_you_ ** _could visit her whenever you damn well pleased?”_

 _“...._ **_You_ ** _did not tell him either. How many months have passed since you’ve known?”_

 _“Don’t you_ **_dare_ ** _put this on me. I didn’t tell him yet because it would_ **_destroy him_ ** _to know that one of your people destroyed her body during some sick ritual._ **_You_ ** _didn’t tell him for your own selfish reasons. You_ **_led him_ ** _to believe she was there at all.”_

_“Sitri was like a daughter to me. I could not bear the thought of her alone in the cold, dark ground. Just as I could not bear to tell Jeralt of-”_

_“But you would bury_ **_him_ ** _alone in the cold, dark ground without a second thought.”_

Rhea had ended the conversation there, using her booming voice and authority to dismiss them all. To announce that Jeralt would be buried in the morning and a eulogy and funeral held at the gravesite, in accordance with the church’s ordinances. And that there would be no further discussion on the matter.

Felix was stunned silent by it all. He’d known the church imperfect, but he’d never seen the depth of the archbishop’s hypocrisy first hand. It settled like lead in his gut, and went molten when Byleth turned around, storming off right past all of them without so much as a glance to any of their faces. But he saw hers. The utter turmoil beneath the stony expression, eyes laden with both fury and agony, the glimmer of tears pooling at the corner of her eyes. He wonders if she’d abandoned the scene to avoid being seen more so than at Rhea’s command. 

Rhea demanded the rest of them leave, and Felix shot her a hateful glare. One that Rhea disapproved of, clearly, but did not back down from. It wasn’t broken until Yuri grabbed him by the arm, dragging him away, though Byleth was long out of sight by then. 

Once they’d left the audience chamber, Felix ripped his arm away from the man. Yuri did not object, and started to continue on until Felix demanded answers.

“What the hell is going on?” He snapped, looking to the direction they’d come from and back to Yuri. “...And why did you want _me_ to see it?” Perhaps, that’s the question he didn’t understand the most. He’d thought the man to be a schemer, to be involving Byleth in something for his own ends. He didn’t trust him, and he certainly didn’t expect to ever be acknowledged by him in something he clearly knew nothing about, had no involvement in. 

The man hesitated, eyes glancing about the area for anyone in the immediate area besides the three of them. After a moment, he gave Felix a serious look, no hint of his usual smugness. His tone was low and firm, his answer brief and vague, but the message was clear. 

“Because she needs allies. Allies she can trust.” 

The red-head gave a silent nod of affirmation. Felix may not know the details, but it was clear that Byleth was at the center of something sinister. He could have guessed as much based on what he’d seen and heard. What surprised Felix is that these people from the underground weren’t dragging her into it…

It sounded like they were trying to dig her _out_. Felix gave a silent nod as well. Even if he doesn’t understand it all, he’s seen enough to know that something needs to be done. 

He didn’t see Byleth again the rest of the night, not that he expected to. Felix’s evening was spent hammering at a training dummy, snapping at anyone who tried to talk to him, and then failing to get any sleep as he laid in bed all night, a slave to his thoughts and frustrations. 

Felix didn’t feel loyal to most things anymore. Not Faerghus, not the church, not even his own father or territory. He was born into those roles, it was _expected_ of him to remain dutiful to those responsibilities. Though he hasn’t had reason to outright defect, they have not _earned_ his loyalty and barely held his respect most days. Even most of his childhood friends...he felt a rift there, save for Sylvain.

Byleth, however...She had more than earned his trust. If she’s chosen to trust him in return...perhaps he can give loyalty another shot.

* * *

The morning was grey, dark clouds threatening to rain but never quite filling that promise. There’s a small crowd gathered at the graveyard, the air about them melancholy. The students from their class, the other professors, the other knights. Though everyone looks somber, there are a few people he notices in particular. 

Alois is an absolute mess. It’s always a struggle to see a grown man cry, but particularly one as boisterous and seemingly optimistic as him. There’s a pain in his face that makes Felix look away.

Hapi and Yuri are nowhere to be seen. He doesn’t know why.

Though a few students from the other classes are in attendance, there’s something... _odd_ about the way Edelgard stands at the back, something unsettling about the furrow of her brow that indicates something more akin to _anger_ than sadness. 

Dimitri stands at the front on the other side of the grave, his expression a near mirror of Edelgard’s behind him.

And Byleth is like stone. 

Even from where he stands next to her, just behind her shoulder, in his peripherals he can see she’s fallen back into her unreadable stoicism. At least on the surface. But it’s not the passive, unphased sort of calm. It’s like she’s a weathered statue, eroded enough to either shatter or explode at a moment’s notice. 

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Her gaze doesn’t move as Rhea speaks, she doesn’t crack when Alois gives his eulogy. He doesn’t see the shimmer of any tears on her cheeks or quiver of her lips. It seems...impossible. 

He also notices that she does not _speak_ , despite it being her own father’s funeral. Perhaps she can’t bring herself to. After what he’d seen yesterday...he can understand why.

Eventually, the coffin is brought out. Polished wood, washed white and marked with the Crest of Seiros over the lid. It makes him ill to see, imagining the man inside to be standing where Felix stands now watching an identical scene, completely unaware that he’s mourning an _empty box_. He can’t begin to imagine how Byleth must feel. As they begin to lower the casket, he dares to steal a glance at her.

Her shoulders are pulled taut like a bowstring, eyes glaring hard at the dirt between her boots. She’s _shaking_ , fists clenched as hard as her jaw. Without thinking, Felix reaches forward, hand slipping around her arm as he grabs her bicep, squeezing firmly but not hard. He dares not speak, but he also dares not ignore her blatant misery. It’s all he can think to do to try and steady her, reassure her that she is not alone. It’s not until after he does so and he feels her freeze that he second-guesses the action, expecting her to yank her arm away.

But she doesn’t. After a moment, her other arm slowly crosses in front of her, hand resting over where his fingers hold onto her. She squeezes back, grip remaining firm as she tries to ground herself. She remains tense and icy, livid and devastated, but the trembling stops. Her hand does not move from his for the rest of the ceremony...So he does not dare pull it away. 

Not even when everyone else disperses and she remains. 

* * *

The following day, he finds himself in the library. He doesn’t really even understand _why_ . He never bothers to go up there, and he’s reminded of that by the odd looks some of the regular visitors give him. He doesn’t even pick any books out of the shelves, finding nothing to be worth his time to bother with. Perhaps he’d just been hoping something would jump out at him, that he could be of some sort of help instead of just spending _another_ day taking out his frustration on a wooden opponent that couldn’t hit back. 

A stupid idea, he realizes. It doesn’t take long to realize that every text here was censored by the archbishop and her cronies. Rhea wouldn’t keep any incriminating documentation in so easily accessible a location. Scoffing at his own foolishness, he storms back out of the library and down the hall. He stops in his tracks, however, upon hearing Dimitri’s voice coming from a room he’s in the midst of passing. Felix catches only a glimpse of two figures in the room, distinctively Dimitri and Byleth, standing with their backs to the entryway. Still, Felix steps back, realizing that the room is the Captain’s quarters...Jeralt’s room. Why Byleth was there was obvious. Why Dimitri was there, though…

 _“As for what happened to Jeralt...I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”_ Dimitri says to her, somehow coating his tongue with eloquence and sympathy despite the beast Felix knows is lying underneath it all. _“Stay here until you’ve found some peace. I’ll cover for you with Lady Rhea and everyone else.”_

It’s a...decent gesture, at least...He’ll give the boar that. He expects that to be the end of it. That Dimitri will leave her be, particularly after her response is a melancholy _“If only…”_

But he doesn’t leave it at that. Of course he can’t. Spewing nonsense about what _he thinks_ and about _his_ _own_ tragic past. As if his monologue is what she needs in that moment. He can’t see them around the threshold of the door now, but he hears almost nothing from Byleth...just Dimitri talking at her. Trying to inspire her or some shit like that, pledging his loyalty to her. Perhaps he should give the prince the benefit of the doubt, he doesn’t know the extent of what Byleth is going through…

That thought barely passes through Felix’s mind before he immediately rejects it. Yes he _does_ . Dimitri had been _involved_ in whatever chaos had taken place underground. He’d _been there_ , seen it first hand. As far as Felix is concerned, the boar has _no excuse_ to smother her like this. It takes all his discipline _not_ to barge in and tell him to _leave her alone_. At least, shortly after, the prince finally does. Felix hears the footsteps and instinctively steps back behind the nearest pillar so he isn’t spotted. As much as he’s irritated by what he’s overheard, it doesn’t exactly look good on him for eavesdropping long enough to overhear it. When Dimitri exits the room, he doesn’t notice Felix hiding around the obstacle, thankfully. Felix waits a long few seconds for his armored footsteps to fade away. Unfortunately, there’s no other way back to the staircase, so he has to pass the room to continue on. Hoping it’s been an unsuspicious amount of time, he quickly moves to pass by the open door.

“Felix?”

Just as he passes, he stops at the sound of her voice. _Damnit_ , she’s noticed him. Did she know he’d been waiting just outside? Her tone doesn’t betray any irritation, but that didn’t mean much when it came to Byleth. He sighs, backing up a few steps so that he’s in front of the doorway looking in. She stands in the room, blank-faced as she stares back at him. Did she need something? Or was she just calling him out for snooping? “Yes?” It’s all he can think to say.

She’s silent for a moment, and though her expression doesn’t shift, the words she says are the closest thing he’s heard to her usual self that he’s heard since that day. “We need to work on your stealth.” At his silence, she nods toward the direction of the pillar he’d been hiding behind moments ago. “Your footsteps started very suddenly.” 

“It wasn’t my intention to pry,” he defends, despite the statement not really being intended to accuse him of anything. He should just apologize, but such an action just doesn’t come naturally to Felix. 

“I know,” she says calmly. “Actually, if you’re not busy...I’d like to talk to you.” 

The way she says it...it’s so casual. The way she might invite someone to tea. He nods and enters, closing the door behind him at her request.

She moves across the room towards the pair of padded benches that surround the coffee table. There’s nothing on the surface save for a tiny drawstring bag and an old leather-bound journal with the latch undone, suggesting she’d been reading it before Dimitri had shown up. Felix sits at one of the benches when she motions him to, but to his surprise, she sits beside him rather than across. There’s a few inches between their legs, but still his hand clenches and unclenches where it rests on his thigh. If she notices, she makes no comment, instead crossing her arms and propping her legs up on the table. One ankle crosses over the other as she leans back, tilting her head to stare blankly up at the ceiling.

“It’s easier to move silently if you have leather soles on your boots,” she says after a moment of silence. He turns to give her a questioning look, but she continues on like it’s just any ordinary day. “They’re softer and more pliable, so they make less sound and more easily mold around any surface you need to move across.”

“You wear _heels_ into battle,” he retorts, unable to help himself from pointing out how her advice once more does not match her own practice. And somehow, she still manages to move silently across the cobblestone when she chooses to. 

She cracks a small smile at that and if he’d been standing, he might have stumbled back. Brief as it was, it’s the first time he’s seen her smile since her father was killed. “I’m just that good,” she responds, cool as ever. But there’s a smug undertone as she adds, “...and the heels are bound in leather.”

An amused huff leaves him at that, crossing his arms as well as he leans back into the seat. “Your boots are ridiculous. Why not wear something flat and more practical?” Honestly, it’s a question he’s always wondered...along with a few other practicality concerns he has with her usual attire. But clearly it’s working for her, so what does he care what she wears?

“I like to feel taller.” She says it so flatly he can’t be sure if she’s joking or not. 

He gives her an incredulous look. “It’s _two inches_.” That was hardly notable.

Again, she smiles, seemingly amused by his disbelief. “Worth it.” Her head turns to face him and he feels a sudden heat at the tips of his ears. “Besides, they’re good quality. Waterproof, sturdy, inside is far more comfortable than you’d think.”

He snorts at that. “Did you just invite me in here to talk about shoes?” 

The smile disappears immediately and he feels a pang of guilt over it. She looks forward again, reverting back to her somber mood. He could curse himself for being so brusque all the time. “Not specifically,” she admits, voice much softer now. “I just wanted to have a normal conversation for a change...without someone trying to offer me consolations or empathetic stories or telling me how _strong_ I am and that I’ll pull through this…” She leans forward now, elbows resting on her knees as she clasps her hands together. “You don’t have to stay. I just knew you wouldn’t do any of that.” 

“...I can stay.” The words leave him without thinking. It almost sounded like she was...lonely. It would seem that he’d been wrong in a few ways. Felix had been uncertain of approaching her, unsure how to offer comfort or sympathy. He’d been aggravated by those who attempted to, thinking they should leave her alone to grieve. By the sound of it...she did not want to be alone _or_ be consoled. That...He can manage that. 

There’s the slightest pull at her lips again, but the smile is almost unnoticeable it’s so weighted with sadness. She’s silent a bit longer, and he struggles to think of what else to say, fearing he’s already ruined the mood. But after a few moments, she does speak again. “I was going to leave,” she admits. “The only reason I was here was because my father felt the knights would hunt us down if we didn’t come.”

Felix nearly sputters at that, the thought of her just being _gone_ hitting him like a brick wall. “What!?” 

Byleth holds up a hand defensively, an attempt to calm him before he can go into a tirade demanding why she’d just abandon them. Abandon _him_ . “I’m not going to.” It’s enough to stop him from jumping out of his seat. “...I was going to take his ashes and leave. I didn’t anticipate Rhea burying him...It stalled me long enough that I came to his room to try and think. Then I found _that_.” She nods her head toward the journal on the table. 

He’s calm enough now, though he feels guilt at his rather selfish reaction. It can’t be easy for her to stay here. He shouldn’t take comfort in her still being here because she’s _trapped_.

He does anyway. He hates it. 

“Your father’s, I take it?” he questions, glancing over the diary. She nods. “What did you find?”

She sighs, staring at it like it’s a reflecting pool. “Unsettling shit, to be honest…” She hesitates, clenching her jaw as she mulls over her thoughts. “My mother died giving birth to me, that I knew. But his entries suggest he was...suspicious about the truth of it. And...I didn’t cry. Not during birth. Not ever.” She seems to be fighting back the urge to cry right then. Somehow, she manages, though there’s a crack in her voice. “Not until he died.”

On the surface, it seems odd. But on top of everything else, he can understand her uneasiness about it all. “Weird. But not impossible, I guess.” 

Byleth nods, numbly. Her lips part just barely as she continues to stare down at the journal. There’s hesitation in the very way she sits, like there’s more she wants to say. Turning to him, he notices her eyes dart to his chest before they return to his face. He swallows, unsure what that was about. Usually, he finds the professor’s blunt and straightforward nature a blessing, but...sometimes it comes with a bit of a curse.

“Can I feel your heartbeat?” She asks, as simply as someone might ask for the time. 

Felix blinks at that, taken off guard. The gesture is a harmless one, he’s sure there’s a _reason_ for her making such a seemingly random request. It wasn’t like he’s never had a physician feel for his heartbeat or pulse. It wasn’t like he’d never brushed arms or shoulders with her during their spars. But he distinctly remembers how much he tenses whenever she’d grab his shoulders or forearms during lessons to adjust his stance or grip on his blade. At first, it was simply that he did not _like_ to be touched, not by anyone. He still doesn’t. But lately, he’s noticed that it bothers him for entirely different reasons, now.

Reasons he refuses to admit to or acknowledge in any way, shape, or form. Reasons that had him stumbling over words and talking like a fool in the goddess tower. Reasons that he’s convinced Sylvain implanted in his head and he hasn’t been able to push them out. 

“Are you going to explain _why_?” He scoffs, eyeing her skeptically.

“Yes.” She says nothing else. 

Weird. “Fine.” 

He stills his entire body as her hand reaches up, not at all tentative as she rests it on his chest, fingers slipping beneath his vest but over the shirt underneath. Felix can’t help the way his shoulders roll back and press into the padding of the bench behind him, but Byleth doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she stares down at the table again, fingers pressing flat into the cloth over his chest. It took a few moments for him to realize he was holding his breath all the while, but she seems to be in some sort of trance...like she’s committing the pattern of his heartbeats to memory.

...Would she notice that it’s beating faster?

After what feels like forever, she pulls her hand away, seeming even more solemn than she had before. A long exhale leaves Felix as he tries to recover from the contact, and he notices that her fingers immediately press against her wrist, feeling for her pulse. His brows knit, wondering if she has some sort of health condition she didn’t know about before and was trying to pinpoint it. His mouth opens to ask about it, but before a word comes out, she shoves her wrist over to him. “Okay, feel my pulse.” 

Felix reigns in his impatience over the buildup, but at least she seems to be figuring this out as she goes rather than intentionally leaving him in suspense. He humors her, pressing three of his fingers against the inside of her wrist. There’s a steady, subtle throb beneath the skin. Orange eyes lift from her hand to her face. “Feels normal. Why?”

Byleth gives no verbal response. Instead, she grabs his hand and before he can protest about it, she’s placed the palm of his hand over her chest, pressing it flat against her ribcage below her collarbone. Felix’s first reaction is to try and pull away, an unbearable heat quickly assaulting his cheeks. But there’s something about the look on her face that stops him, and he realizes that she’s trying to get him to feel _her_ heartbeat in turn. But why? He’d just felt her pulse, it was the same thing…

It’s not until he thinks about it that he realizes...He doesn’t feel anything. _Nothing_ beating in her chest. Confusion contorts his features, wondering if he’s just not positioned right or not trying hard enough. His hand shifts, pressing firmer against her flesh enough that she’s pinned to the couch behind her. He waits...and waits, not even breathing, for fear that he’d mistake the movement of his own lungs for something else. 

But there’s nothing at all. Her heart is silent as the grave. He wants to try and listen, but the idea of putting his face anywhere _near_ her chest is enough to make him feel faint. Felix looks up at her, frustrated. Surely he’s just doing it wrong. “I can’t find your heartbeat,” he tells her.

There’s something grim about the look on her face now, even if it hasn’t changed at all. “Because I don’t have one.” 

His eyes widen at that, disbelieving. Surely he’d heard wrong. “That’s not possible,” he spits as he pulls his hand away, the notion completely ridiculous. Anatomically impossible. He’s no doctor, but he’s not a moron either. 

“I know,” she says as she picks up the journal and opens it to a specific point. He hesitates to take it when she hands it to him, feeling that it’s far too private and personal for his eyes. But if she allows it...or seemingly, _insists_ , on it judging by how she points to a specific passage...He’ll do so, if only to answer the plethora of questions in his mind.

_Day 25 of the Horsebow Moon: It’s raining. The baby doesn’t laugh or cry. Not ever._

_Lady Rhea says not to worry, but a baby that doesn’t cry...isn’t natural._

_I had a doctor examine the child in secret. He said the pulse is normal, but there’s no heartbeat. No heartbeat!_

_Day 2 of the Wyvern Moon: Sunny. I feel I must take the child and leave._

_But the church is always watching us...I don’t know what Lady Rhea has planned._

_I used to think the world of Lady Rhea. Now I’m terrified of her._

He stares incredulously at the words in the journal, the rest explaining how Jeralt had faked Byleth’s death in order to run away. How Rhea had been devastated over it. Jeralt’s suspicion about the death of Byleth’s mother. Suddenly...some things begin to make sense. He can sense Byleth’s eyes on him as he mulls over the new information. 

Why Byleth was given the position of professor despite not having any experience or credentials. Why Byleth was working so closely with Yuri to figure out what was going on with her mother. Why Rhea had been so adamant about having Jeralt buried on monastery grounds. 

This has been going on since Byleth was born. Rhea’s been trying to _keep her here_. 

The biggest question left is _why?_

“What the _fuck_ …” he mutters, voice coming out a shocked whisper. He looks back up at her for answers, but there’s only question in her face. 

She doesn’t know either. Perhaps that’s the most unsettling part of all. “When Alois found us all those months ago after the bandit attack, my father said he _‘wouldn’t dare try to outrun the Knights of Seiros’._ He told me not to trust Rhea. I didn’t understand then, but I think I’m starting to…”

Afraid is not a word he would use to describe Byleth. Not ever. But what he sees on her face now, what he hears in her voice…

It’s alarmingly close. 

“Byleth…” he mutters, trying to wrap his head around what the hell is going on. “What the hell happened in Abyss?”

She sighs. “It’s a long story.” Lifting her gaze to him, she remains surprisingly calm. “Get comfortable.”

**~Byleth~**

Since then, Byleth’s stability had gradually improved, but was far from repaired. Answers continued to elude her. Even during the funeral, Yuri was able to find nothing in Rhea’s room while Hapi distracted the guards. There was no sighting of the enemies, or if there was, no one was allowed to tell her. Though she trusted Alois would not keep information from her, he’d been dispatched _searching_ for them with Shamir and a few others, and they had yet to return. 

If Rhea thought she didn’t notice the shift of the guards and patrols since then, she was a fool. She gave the excuse of putting more guards at all the entrances to prevent anyone unauthorized getting in. That did not explain the guards who less than subtly trailed Byleth around every distant corner when she made her rounds, or how she was told she _was not allowed to leave past the market_ for ‘her own safety’. 

By the time she heard _anything_ , it was because the enemy was spotted just outside the monastery. In truth, the only reason Byleth hadn’t attempted to sneak out before...was so that the guards would grow more lax around her so that she could sneak out when it mattered. Break out now. 

If she couldn’t get answers...she could at least get _revenge_. 

That had been her intention until she’d been intercepted by Dimitri, who insisted on going with her...And then Rhea had intercepted them. She’s not sure if she should be irritated or relieved at the prince’s diplomacy granting her the _permission_ from the archbishop to go after them with the others.

Everything after that was a blur. Vicious, vile words dripping from the prince’s bared fangs as he confronted Solon. Chasing down the bitch who murdered her father, and then had the _gall_ to beg for Byleth’s help when her companion betrayed her. A haze of anger, a fog that made Byleth uncharacteristically reckless. One that had led her into a trap and exiled her to an empty pocket of darkness. One she was only able to escape by joining with the goddess in her head, by absorbing Sothis’ power into herself so that she might use it to literally cleave a hole in the sky and climb back out. 

To wake up to the sound of Rhea singing...her head resting in her lap in a way that was so _disquietingly_ maternal, had done nothing to ease Byleth’s anxieties. The way the woman had trailed off about Byleth was…

Byleth no longer hears the goddess’s voice, no longer dreams memories that don’t belong to her. Instead, her nightmares are plagued by Rhea’s deliberate withholding of information about Byleth. About the things she has done...might have done... _might_ still do. And there’s nowhere she can go.

She doesn’t even want to know what this “Divine Revelation” is. Rhea claims it will be an epiphany from the goddess, that the goddess will speak to her. But the goddess had been speaking in Byleth’s head for months before the merge. Why would the revelation happen _now_ once the goddess is no longer a being she can converse with in her mind? It leaves her uneasy, a feeling made even more foreboding by how _insistent_ Rhea is that Byleth go through with it. 

Byleth looks up from the book open before her, realizing she hasn’t retained a single word she’s read in the last twenty minutes or so. She isn’t sure if she should blame the dark secrets that dance around her or the nearly emptied third mug of ale she’s downed from Abyss’s tavern. She jolts slightly, catching the reflection of herself in a broken mirror across the room. She still isn’t used to the shock of bright green that now dominates her hair and eyes. An exhale leaves her, finishing off the last of her drink against her better judgment. 

Fingers brush over her forehead and through her bangs, tugging a bit to try and reshift her focus back to the task at hand. The report she’s been reading through is only partial, anyway. Most of it is burnt and therefore missing half the information. What information she does find doesn’t seem to be relevant to anything she’s concerned about. She shoves the book aside, hard enough that it almost slides off the other end of the dusty table. She remembers when Yuri first showed her this library. The sprawling expanse of books that towered upwards, many only accessible by the precarious and rusty spiral staircase, was apparently a well-kept secret. Most all the books here had been ordered burned by Rhea. Instead, they’d been stored and hidden here. The look that likely would cross Rhea’s face if she could see these pages preserved right under her feet...Byleth can picture it clearly. 

Grabbing the next book from the pile she’s set to her left, she recognizes the title: _Encyclopedia of Fodlan’s Insects_ . It had stuck out to her because it seemed odd that a book about bugs would be banished to the Shadow Library. She wanted to know why. Opening the cover, she quickly realizes that it’s not a tome about insects with questionable information, but rather a catalog regarding a different subject altogether that had been bound into the cover of a seemingly _innocent_ book. 

That alone intrigues her. What could be so damning or secretive that it needed to be covered in a lie? It doesn’t take long to figure out why.

_Distance Viewer - (based on glasses)_

_By combining glasses lenses, one can view great distances with enhanced clarity. Crafting such a tool was forbidden by decree of the archbishop for the following reasons:_

  * _1) The ease of locating enemy camps would escalate wartime violence._


  * 2) It would be too easy to snipe from afar.


  * 3) It would lessen the mystery of the goddess, who watches from above.



Byleth quirks a brow. Odd. Perhaps it’s just the mercenary in her that finds the first two reasons to be ridiculous, you should always seek an advantage in battle. The third reason entirely eludes her. Is it suggesting that the goddess could be viewed in the sky with such technology?

...Or that one would see nothing at all and begin to question it? She continues to read.

_Flammable Black Water_

_A sticky black liquid was discovered in Northern Faerghus. It burns fiercely and emits a highly toxic gas. The use of this wicked substance was forbidden by decree of the archbishop for the following reasons:_

  * _1) Misuse could result in accidental death._


  * 2) It could be used tactically by those lacking magical ability. 


  * 3) Competition for it could cause strife. 



Less questionable, but she still doesn’t agree with the reasons. Misuse of a sword could also result in accidental death, and competition for land and hunting grounds makes for strife. So what’s so different about this? 

_Metal-Mold Printing Machine_

_Though initially lauded as a practical replacement for woodblock printing, after careful consideration, the archbishop deemed it taboo for many reasons, particularly the following:_

  * _1) Risk of mass circulation of misinformation and malevolent rumors._


  * 2) It is useless to illiterate commoners.


  * 3) Risk of intensifying disparity between church branches.



“What the fuck…” she mutters to herself. This sounded like censorship, not protection. And upon remembering how Rhea handled the ‘blasphemers’ of the western church...it begins to make sense. Rhea could kill a person who spoke against the goddess. She could burn limited pages from woodblock printing...but she’d struggle to get a hold of all documents if mass printing was made easier. An unsettling feeling begins to turn in her gut...but she continues on. 

_Human Autopsies (Especially Involving Head or Chest Incisions)_

_Though it is widely believed that this is medically relevant, such actions upon a corpse are considered desecration of the dead. Since white magic can be used to a similar end, autopsies were deemed taboo. A notable cardinal asserted that if medical science were to excel over faith-based white magic, it would destabilize the foundation of the church._

The book is slammed shut at that, Byleth’s teeth grit in frustration. She dares not turn to the next page and see a continuation explaining why _cremation_ is considered desecration of the dead as well...That’s not something she feels she’s ready for, despite nearly a month having passed since her father’s burial. It was ridiculous. Even knowing what little she does of Faith magic, she knows that it can’t find everything the science of an autopsy could find. She recalls discussions she’s had over tea with Manuela where the physician would very vaguely complain about the ‘limitations’ of her practice here at Garreg Mach.

No wonder her father had taught her nothing of the church...It’s been corrupted. Perhaps since its foundation, for all she knows. She wishes she could still speak to the goddess. Perhaps then she could ask why it’s called the Church of _Seiros_ and not the Church of _Sothis_. Crossing her arms under her chest, she leans back in the uncomfortable wooden chair, a huff of frustrated breath quickly leaving her. 

“There’s a plethora of hard truths in these pages, friend.” She looks over to the entrance to see Yuri leaning back against the doorway, a grim look on his face. “And they only scratch the surface of it all.”

Byleth exhales hard, bottom lip protruding outward so that the breath blows her bangs upward in a wild burst. “I knew the church was questionable...but I didn’t dare to think the shit ran this deep. I understand that Seiros is the founder, but if all these beliefs are based on _‘the will of the goddess_ ’,” She gives a mocking hand motion at those words, before shaking her head in frustrated resignation. “...I can’t be the only one who thinks it’s messed up that she named the church after _herself_ instead of the goddess.”

A dark chuckle leaves him at that. “You certainly aren’t, friend. But you _are_ one of the few with the stones to question it aloud.” Pushing himself off the wall, he calmly makes his way to the table, but there’s a look of urgency in his face. “It would appear that _Seteth_ is another, much to my surprise. I...overheard a troubling conversation from the shadows not long ago.”

There’s a pause in his words. That does not bode well from the ever-eloquent lord of the underground. She blinks, attention rapt and apprehensive on his face, inviting him to elaborate.

“Seteth read your father’s diary, apparently. I don’t know how or when he got ahold of it, since I know it to be in your possession now…” She hadn’t shared all the details of the journal with Yuri yet. She wasn’t entirely sure why, but she’s torn between wondering if it’s because her trust doesn’t run that far with the leader of the Ashen Wolves, or if she’s still haunted by the way that information had shaken Felix. “But he confronted Rhea...rather adamantly demanding to know ‘ _what she did to that baby_ ’...I can only assume he meant _you_.”

Byleth’s hand that rests on the table’s surface slowly closes into a fist, nails digging into her palm as she digests this new bit of information. She recalls her father’s written words that he was suspicious about what Rhea said regarding the circumstances of her birth and her mother’s death. At first, she hadn’t been sure what to make of it. But Seteth...he knew Rhea well. Likely better than anyone else. For him to immediately accuse Rhea of directly doing something to Byleth as an infant…

It’s hard to shake the feeling that he’s right. The puzzle pieces start to fit together in her mind. What other reason could there be for the goddess to have dwelled inside her? What other reason could there be for Byleth to have the ability to turn back time and rip a dimensional hole in the sky after merging with Sothis, giving her hair and eyes a new ethereal shade of green she’d only seen among officials of Rhea’s church? What other reason could there be for Byleth to have a pulse but _no heartbeat?_

Her fingers gingerly lift from the table, idly tracing the fabric of her shirt just over her chest...subconsciously trailing across the line of the scar that travels along her sternum between her breasts. What other reason could there be for her to have this scar in her earliest memories, even long before she’d ever picked up a blade?

Suddenly she feels sick to her stomach. What _did_ Rhea do to her? 

“You alright there, friend?” Yuri’s voice rips her from her thoughts. “You look pale...it doesn’t become you.” 

“Not really, no. But I’ll survive,” she mutters, not ready to focus on all the ramifications of whatever ritual or operation she’d been subjected to as an infant. “Have you found anything new?” It’s an attempt to change the subject, if only a little. She remembers his frustration when he and Hapi had returned empty-handed the day of Jeralt’s funeral. Apparently Rhea kept her room immaculate.

“Nothing concrete,” he admits with a lackadaisical wave of his hand. “Just speculation. I do still find it quite peculiar that you bear the Crest of Flames, and I can find no accounts, even in the forbidden texts, that suggest Nemesis had any descendants. So how did it manifest in you, I wonder?”

She squints at that. “You think that maybe Rhea somehow gave me the crest?”

Yuri gives a shrug, finally making his way across toward her to take a seat at the other side of the table. “Possibly. There being no accounts of Nemesis having a continued bloodline does not mean he indisputably does not. However, all things considered, I do think it’s more likely that Rhea is at the root of it.” 

“How would she even do that?” Byleth knew so little about Crests. All she knew was that they were passed down through families, the same way one might inherit a hair color or medical condition. 

“Crests can be passed through blood.” 

“I know _that_ much,” she scoffs, growing impatient.

The smug smile returns to his face and she resists the urge to roll her eyes, knowing that once again she’s fallen into a trap where he makes her fish for answers before he offers them. “I don’t mean strictly through a _bloodline_ , friend. I mean quite literally through the _blood_ itself.” He steeples his hands in front of himself, fingers splayed apart as he watches for her reaction. “It’s a tricky process. Dangerous, even. And the risk is arguably not worth the reward, since chances of success are far from remarkable. But you _could_ potentially gain a crest through a blood transfusion.”

Byleth’s browse raise, a bit surprised to hear that. “Sounds like an easy way to exploit the crest system.”

A hollow chuckle is his response. “Perhaps. Were it not for not only the medical risks, but also the church forbidding the practice and the nobles guarding their bloodlines and status the way a dragon guards a hoard...Not that it stops certain black market traffickers from trying.”

“...Sounds like you deal with their sort down here.” After all, Abyss was the seedy underground of Garreg Mach. And just beneath an officers academy full of heirs to nobility is a ripe hunting ground for those sorts of dealers to stalk. 

“Every now and then,” he responds, sounding a bit more bored as he shifts in his seat to prop his feet up on the table. “Though it’s one of the few industries I keep my hands clean of. I find most here in Abyss would much rather see the crest system eradicated than try to reap the benefits of it and then be executed for treason by the church. We do get the occasional _infiltrator_ looking to sneak past us for a chance at grabbing a crest-bearing whelp...or one of my Wolves, if they somehow unearthed that information.” A slight frown of annoyance tugs briefly at his lips.

Byleth can’t help but recall the reports of women going missing months ago when Flayn had been kidnapped. Were they all the Death Knight? Or were some these crest-blood traffickers Yuri spoke of? “So I could have gotten my crest from a blood transfusion then…” If having a lead of some sort should give her some form of comfort, it doesn’t. “I guess that’s a lead we can look into.” 

The door opens suddenly. Both sets of eyes turn to see Hapi lean in at a precarious angle, holding herself up by anchoring her grip around the doorframe. “Hey Chatterbox, your training dummy’s lookin’ for you.” Before either can ask any questions, Felix storms into the room looking choleric as ever, with a particularly harsh glare thrown Hapi’s way. Yuri seems alarmed at first. After all, most from the aboveground were not allowed to simply waltz into Abyss. But he says nothing. Instead, Felix’s gaze fixes straight on Byleth. “What the hell is this ‘Divine Revelation’ nonsense? Everyone up there is wagging their tongues about it.”

Unfazed, she just shakes her head. “Hell if I know.” Part of her wants to, part of her is afraid to. “But I’m not looking forward to it.”

Felix’s eyes go wide, before narrowing again. He stomps over to the table, sounding rather aghast. “Wait, _what_ ? You’re not going to actually _go through with it_ , are you?”

“I don’t think I have a choice,” she responds with a frustrated sigh. Rhea wasn’t going to just _let_ _her_ opt out, she knows that all too well. Whatever Rhea demands, happens. No one stops her. 

“You _always_ have a choice!” He exclaims, fist slamming against the table. Byleth’s shoulders jolt up, back rigid and straight and wide-eyed at his sudden outburst. But despite the sudden anger, he pulls his hand back, calming himself as he lets out a harsh exhale. His tone becomes calmer, but still stern. “Don’t do it. I don’t trust that woman and I know you don’t either. It’s a _mistake_.”

She’s silent at that. She can feel all their eyes on her, Yuri’s boring a hole into the side of her face, no doubt trying to decipher why it is that Felix seems so _adamant_ that there will be irreparable consequences if Byleth does what Rhea says. Neither Felix nor Yuri know all the details yet, but still Yuri chimes in. “It could be...depending on what she asks the dear Professor to do. I hear mention of sitting in a chair in the Holy Tomb, but there may be other aspects to this... _ritual_ that we don’t yet know. Perhaps it would be best if we accompanied you...Whether Rhea knows it or not.”

Felix’s lip curls up in distaste. Is it at the idea of stealth? Or is it not enough to assuage his concerns? 

It’s Hapi’s voice that cuts in, then. The redhead’s leg swings out to ensure her balance before she releases her grip on the doorway. “Can’t you just...look into the future or whatever, Chatterbox?”

All three look at her in confusion. Hapi’s bottom lip forms a pout, not particularly appreciating the attention as if she’s dumb or insane. “Look, if you can cut a hole in the sky to escape some dark dimension, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to think you have psychic abilities. I mean...you tried to attack that girl before she even pulled out her knife, like you _knew_ what she was going to do. Not to mention that whole thing in Remire where you said you would _‘explain later’_ ,” her voice lowers an octave on those words, fingers curling in the motion of mock quotes. “Which you never did, by the way. But I can only guess it has something to do with being able to see the future.”

Now eyes are back on Byleth, Felix looking skeptical, Yuri looking rather intrigued, and Hapi rather exasperated. Byleth considers for a moment if it’s _wise_ to divulge that she has this kind of power. But it’s just these three...frankly the only people she trusts at the moment. And they’re already well aware that she has superhuman abilities after the events in the Sealed Forest. But it seems Hapi is the first to make the connection that Byleth’s power predates the change in her hair and eyes.

Byleth sighs. She’ll have to explain the details of how it works. How it only goes back so far, can only be used so many times. She’ll have to make sure they know it’s essential to keep this information secret. And she will. But first, she just needs to tell them what it is. If they’re going to help her, they deserve to know that much. They may _need_ to. And the look of shock she receives from them is laden with a heavy silence.

_“I can’t see the future...I turn back time to try and avert a future I’ve just lived through.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a little more plot development than action but hey, BONDING. That's important ok??  
> Next chapter is the last pre-timeskip chapter...so I don't have to tell you it's gonna be action-packed. :D
> 
> Also, the insect encyclopedia book? Blew my mind when I found that thing in the abyss library. Such a fantastic piece of lore hidden in the game if you look!!


	5. Arc I: Academy - 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The throne in the Holy Tomb is as ominous as it is familiar...and Byleth has a difficult choice to make.

**~Byleth~**

Byleth is silent, distracted as she and her students follow Rhea through the Monastery halls to wherever this ‘Holy Tomb’ is located. A few of her students whisper amongst each other behind her, curiosities and theories passing between their lips. Byleth absorbs none of it, unable to hear much beyond the static pressure in her head, not unlike when you cup your hands over your ears. The contradicting words from earlier that month still rattle around in her skull, combatting each other with no victor. 

_“The Holy Tomb is a sacred temple that is sealed off from the rest of the world. There is nothing to fear.”_ Rhea had said.

 _“Steel your mind for the ceremony, and prepare your students well.”_ Seteth’s words had followed right after.

Steel her mind? Prepare her students? _For what?_ If she was simply supposed to go down and sit on a chair and get a few words from the goddess she’s _already spoken to_ , why does she need to have mental preparation and an _armed guard?_

It hadn’t settled with her before. Now every fiber of her being is telling her to stop. To turn around and refuse. But would Rhea even allow it? There had been no indication that Byleth had any choice in the matter.

_“You_ **_always_ ** _have a choice.”_ Felix’s voice rings out clear in her mind, despite the fact he walks in rigid silence just behind her to her left. She knows he isn’t thrilled about this, quite the opposite. But he was the only one who had a blatant issue with it all. Yuri and Hapi were skeptical, but felt whatever might happen could be stopped or prevented. Byleth felt much the same. Her other students are entirely in the dark. They’re all _excited_ about the prospect of their teacher getting some sort of epiphany from the goddess. They don’t see the dread that’s quickly building in Byleth’s veins with every step that echoes on the stone. Even Dimitri does not seem to notice, appearing to be lost in his own thoughts that render him preoccupied and oddly quiet. Perhaps she would ask about his brooding if she thought she was at all in any condition to answer whatever he might say. The prince appears calm for now, but that hasn’t always been the case for a while now...And Felix has been growing adamantly more concerned that Dimitri is on the edge of _snapping_. 

She sees no stairs, which seems...bizarre if they’re going to a _tomb_ . Instead, they all file into a small room, strangely empty of anything save for elegant tile lining the walls. Rhea reaches the far wall and turns around to face the group as the last of Byleth’s students enter. With her usual smile of composure, she elegantly brushes a hand over one of the tiles behind her...and the whole floor _jolts_ . Byleth hears a few gasps of surprise that ring out behind her, even her own footing shifts slightly in preparation for a fall should the ground beneath their feet crumble entirely. But no such thing happens, instead the floor simply begins to sink down. The descent is smooth, the grinding of stone echoing off the walls as Byleth watches the main floor disappear out of reach. There’s a bit in her stomach she tries to hold back. As a mercenary, particularly as an _assassin_ , one must always have an escape route planned out when entering an area, particularly one unknown. She’d been hesitant enough to descend a likely narrow staircase into catacombs, but usually that meant there would be other exits.

If this was the supposed ‘resting place of the goddess’, however, and they’re entering via some magical moving platform...she begins to worry that this may be the _only_ way out, and she has no idea how to work it...if it will even work for anyone besides Rhea.

Each inch they sink down, she feels more and more trapped. Like she’s been backed into a corner and the only way out will displace her and label her a wanted fugitive or make her a prisoner.

Though...was ‘prisoner’ so different from what she was now when she feels like a hostage without chains?

The slab settles into a perfectly sized groove in the ground below, coming to a full stop with a heavy groan. Her students file out into the area beyond, all dark stone and dim, eerie lighting that can’t possibly all be from torches. Rhea seems to glide forward, placing a hand on Byleth’s shoulder to urge her forward. The squeeze was likely intended to be a comfort, to be reassuring.

To Byleth it feels like a threat. Begrudgingly, she moves forward into the cavernous tomb, unease hardly settled by the way the light seems to brighten as it follows them. The whole place is unsettling, particularly the large throne carved of solid rock at the far end of the chamber. She knows that chair, she’s seen Sothis sit upon it so many times. It had intrigued her before, and now it feels ominous to see it _empty_. 

“This is where the goddess who created this world was laid to rest, along with her children,” Rhea says calmly as they approach ever closer. Before reaching the dais, the others all come to a stop. Byleth follows suit, soles of her boots now feeling fused to the stone beneath her heels. Rhea turns, hands delicately folded in front of her as ever. The pure image of composure and tranquility. There’s something in her eyes that strikes Byleth in a way she cannot explain. The way the archbishop looks at her...is with a fondness that does not seem to fit. Even before their argument over Jeralt’s burial, even when Rhea had looked at her with kindness and attachment that had never quite seemed to befit a near stranger. Yet now...it almost seems that adoration permeates her gaze. 

Something isn’t right.

“It is said that our creator, the goddess Sothis, sat upon this very throne. Professor, do you recognize this throne?” The expectant look in her eyes is that of someone who already knows the answer.

“...I do not.” Byleth lies anyway. She isn’t even sure why.

Rhea simply shakes her head, eerily calm. “There is no need to hide the truth from me, dear one.” She steps aside, a graceful gesture towards the throne a clear indication she means for Byleth to move forward. Leaden feet begrudgingly carry Byleth forward, eyes fixated on the cold, familiar stone. She pauses just before it, hesitation winning out. Something tells her to stop.

“So long... I have waited so very long for this day. Sit upon the throne. I have no doubt you will be gifted a revelation from the goddess.” And the longing in Rhea’s voice is as clear as her words claim.

And that’s precisely what turns Byleth’s hesitation into alarm. She has no idea what it is, but something about Rhea’s words...the way she says them...Whatever this Divine Revelation is, it is not what Byleth has been led to believe. This could not be something so simple as being able to hear Sothis’s voice again, because Byleth has only just _recently_ lost that ability. Rhea’s demeanor is not that of someone who has been waiting for something to happen for a month, or even a year...or perhaps, not even Byleth’s lifetime. 

Byleth turns to look over her shoulder at her companions. When she’d explained Divine Pulse to Felix, Hapi, and Yuri, she’d mentioned the goddess’ voice in her head, how she’d lost it. And sure enough...While the rest of her students smile or look at her expectantly, those three wear expressions of an entirely different nature. Hapi’s brows raise, looking to Yuri who also looks alarmed, gaze quickly shifting back to Byleth from the back of the crowd. Felix is at the front, hand clenched impossibly tight around the hilt of his sword, white-knuckled and jaw tensed as his orange eyes bore into hers. He doesn’t need to speak, or even shake his head. The rigid set of his shoulders and expression on his face say it all.

_Don’t do it._

And her head is screaming those same words at herself. Perhaps if all of them had believed in this, had believed she should seek out this revelation...she might have been able to go through with it. Since losing her father, the ground beneath her feet has felt more like shifting sand, dragging her around at its mercy. Independent and strong-willed as she is, she’s never had to go through life without that cornerstone of his support until recently. Something Rhea was no doubt exploiting, intentional or not. 

But she is not alone. She has allies here... _Friends_ , even. While her students may not understand, they would not turn against her. Yuri and Hapi would never favor the Church, particularly over her. 

And Felix would cut down anyone who tried to take advantage of her for some higher cause that neither of them believed in. 

Byleth steels herself, knowing that her next actions will change the course of her career at Garreg Mach, and possibly her life. But at least she would get to decide _how_. She will no longer walk willingly along the path that Rhea leaves before her simply because it is asked of her. 

In darkness, your eyes can adjust to see the truth, however muddled. Blinding light robs you of your ability to see anything at all. And so she will choose darkness every time.

“No.” She says firmly, shoulders squared and fists clenched at her side. Her expression is blank, but it holds that cold exterior that has lain dormant for some time. The very one that had earned her the moniker of Ashen Demon. Jade colored eyes stare into Rhea’s own, defiant and challenging. A silent degree that she is done following Rhea’s orders. “I will _not_.”

And the look on Rhea’s face is imperceptible. She does not flinch, does not scowl, does not gawk, but even still her eyes betray a range of emotions that flicker past, and none of them pleasant. When her lips finally move, her voice is deep and displeased and dripping with authority. _“What is the meaning of this?”_

Back in the crowd gathered, there are gasps and looks of surprise. Hapi and Yuri split off at the back, slowly working around the edges of the group to get closer to the front without drawing attention. Felix’s boot inches forward as his finger flex along the hilt of his blade. Byleth isn’t looking for a fight, but she has no idea how far Rhea will go to make sure she gets her way.

But before any altercation could even begin to kindle, Dimitri suddenly turned around, demanding some unseen presence stop and reveal themselves. Byleth’s attention shifts away from Rhea and back to the entrance, something that in hindsight could have cost her greatly if her perceived threat had not also done exactly the same. Though Byleth would have gladly reveled in an excuse to avoid this situation…

Being trapped in a tomb against a regiment of the Imperial army and the Flame Emperor was _not_ much better.

* * *

By the end of it, Byleth feels a static numbness throughout every extremity. Normally she was calloused to the events that went on around her. Desensitized to things like death and pain and danger. Perhaps if that had been all she faced down in the Holy Tomb, she wouldn’t feel so shaken as she does now. Scenes of the encounter play over in her mind. The way Rhea’s steady face had shifted when Byleth refused to cooperate, the way Byleth’s own rage manifested similarly in her own face at the sight of Edelgard behind the Flame Emperor’s mask...The way Dimitri had pushed her away and the maniacal laugh that left him before he crushed a man’s _skull_ with his bare hand. The look on his face...No amount of Felix’s warnings could have prepared her for _that_. 

“So... He's finally shown his true face,” Felix had said in the aftermath, long after the prince and archbishop had split off for their own reasons. “The same Dimitri I've seen once before–a beast who loves spilling blood.”

There’s a nigh unnoticeable pained flash in his eyes as Ingrid shouts how he’s wrong, how there has to be some other explanation. Byleth always believed him, she knew the others brushed him off. But seeing how even after witnessing Dimitri in such a savage state Felix is _still_ ignored and told he’s wrong, she begins to understand some fraction of the frustration he feels. As the conversation shifts away to further discussion about the attack and Dimitri’s behavior, it becomes little more than a distorted hum in Byleth’s head. Arms crossed and turned away, Felix glares silently at the far wall before he abandons the scene altogether. 

Byleth can’t bring herself to speak or move at all.

* * *

There is no running now, even if she could bring herself to leave her father’s body behind. She can’t take the coward’s way out and flee after the Empire has declared war. She can’t abandon her students here, can’t leave Alois behind to wonder what happened to her. Days pass, and the looming threat of the empire draws ever nearer. They don’t have much time left, and the odds are stacked against them. The monastery barely has the militia to form any sort of defense. Their best option is to prepare for a siege, but that would only give Edelgard more time to mobilize more troops. It would just delay the inevitable. 

Byleth is no stranger to strategy. She’s familiar with being on the wrong end of an altercation, of having to fall back on underhanded tactics and subterfuge to put the odds back in her favor. But war didn’t work like that. Tactically minded as she may be, she isn’t experienced in grand-scale battles or sieges or everyone looking to her for answers she has no way of knowing. She is no follower, but nor is she a leader. Not naturally. Her position as professor had thrust her into a leadership role of sorts. She knew each of her students personally, knew their strengths and weaknesses and who would be best for certain maneuvers or tactics. But it was not in her blood to stand at the head of a large army she knows little about and give orders knowing it could lead them to their deaths.

Yet...it seems that this is what is expected of her. They are Rhea’s knights, and still everyone seems to look to Byleth. Green eyes shift from the tome she’s been staring blankly at for the last twenty minutes, falling to the sword of the creator which is leaning against the corner of the small alcove she tucked herself into. The damned sword...that was when things really started to get...strange. Being asked to be a professor was odd enough, but little was expected of her. The moment she wielded that sword though…

She’d gone from the strange cryptid professor to some sort of expected savior overnight. Still, she isn’t used to it. Still, it curdles in her gut. Because despite all the information before her, she doesn’t know the reason behind any of it. Not really. 

Perhaps that’s why she finds herself in the Shadow Library once again, slogging through books that don’t give her any of the answers she needs and raising questions that she isn’t prepared to dive into right now. But the main floor was too open, despite how hidden away it was. Abyssians occasionally wandered in for one reason or another. Instead, Byleth has climbed as high as she can up that old iron staircase that spirals up the library’s center, hiding out in a niche just past one of the landings. Rarely did anyone ever come here, and she simply doesn’t want to be bothered. Everywhere she goes, it’s questions...concerns. People asking her why she thinks Edelgard would declare war against the church, asking her how they’re going to win against Imperial forces, asking her about how Abyss will get provisions during a war when already they struggle to obtain them.

As if Byleth could possibly know the answers to any of it. How ironic, that she expects she’ll find any of those answers in the books down here. She simply doesn’t know where else to turn. The others must see her the way she saw these dusty pages: a last-ditch hope. 

There’s a soft thud as she shuts the book with a heavy sigh, practically tossing it to the side with the others. It’s a useless endeavor, just a waste of time. She knows this. But she can’t just sit around and do nothing and wait for the empire to wipe them out. What else is she supposed to do? Her head knocks gently against the stone as she lets it fall back and stares blankly up into the dimming lantern light above. The candle within is almost spent...How long has she been down here? 

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps on woven metal down below. She freezes, as if refraining from any movement would make her invisible should anyone climb up this far. She finds herself mouthing _stop climbing_ over and over as the sounds draw nearer, hoping whoever it is will stop off at an earlier landing and pick a damn book and go away. There’s hardly any hesitation, however, the person seeming to be intent on heading straight to the top for whatever reason. Byleth curses under her breath. What if she pretended to be asleep. Surely no one would be rude enough to wake her, right?

She leans her head to the side, against the other wall of this corner she’s tucked herself into, eyes closed with her arms wrapped loosely around her knees. The footsteps draw to the top of the landing, coming to a stop just a few feet away. There’s silence at first, as if her little trick is working. She waits for the visitor to turn and head back down, but no such luck. Instead, a gruff voice calls her out.

“If you’re going to pretend to be asleep, you should relax your shoulders. You’re too obvious.” 

Felix’s voice, she realizes. And though he sounds annoyed, he seems more annoyed that she just wasn’t a convincing enough deceiver. Byleth doesn’t move at first, and doesn’t respond right away, but she knows he has a point. While maybe she’d deceive someone less observant, it certainly wasn’t convincing enough for him. In a monotone voice, her lips barely move as she replies. “Can’t hear you, I’m sleeping.” 

The exasperated _tch_ it draws from him is enough to amuse her _just_ enough. At least if anyone were to find her up here, it’s just him. It’s surprising, however, that he had found her up here. She knew he wasn’t particularly one for research in any library, let alone Abyss’s. She can only assume he came up here looking for her...whatever his reasoning might be. 

“How’d you find me?” she says calmly, opening her eyes and sitting up straighter. The question is more for research purposes. If it was too obvious, she’d need to find another sanctuary. 

Felix scoffs. “Wasting a lot of time. You weren’t in your room or anywhere else aboveground, so I figured you had to be down here somewhere. This was the second place I thought to look after the bar.” 

There’s a humored tug at the corner of her lips at that. Searching for her at a bar first was always a safe bet. Part of her wishes she had chosen to go there, were it not so packed with Abyssians looking to down the last of the ale before the inevitable siege stilled the flow of booze. “Well, you found me. Did you need something?”

“I’m... _concerned_ ,” he admits, the word falling off his tongue like it poisoned him to speak it. 

Her head rolls to the side as it rests against the wall, giving him a rather exhausted look. “I know, Felix. I am too. We all are.”

His lip twitches in irritation, as if he expected her to know exactly what he meant by such a vague statement. “Not about _that_ ,” he snaps. “I’m concerned about-” He pauses, shifting his stance almost nervously as he glances off to the side and clamps his mouth shut. Arms cross over his chest as he seems to mull over some other way to explain what he means...and struggling with it all the while. 

“I don’t worry about war. I’m bred for battle.” Despite how confidently he says the words, he seems to be struggling with something. There’s another grunt of frustration as his shoulders jerk downard in a huff, hand resting idly on the hilt of his sword. “I’m concerned about…” Again, he cuts off, frustration seeming to increase. Byleth simply blinks in confusion, and suddenly he’s able to give a pointed look her way. “You haven’t been keeping up with your training, I haven’t seen you at the training grounds since the... _chair_ thing.” His lips twist in a way that shows he does not like that wording, but doesn’t know how else to refer to it. “If you slack too long, you won’t be ready for the impending battle.”

Again, she simply blinks at him. Was he trying to say that he was worried about _her?_ The way he keeps avoiding eye contact that he has no trouble with during other conversations seems to suggest that perhaps that _is_ his concern. And...he has a point. She’s been focusing so much on strategy and trying to find answers that she hasn’t been focusing on her fighting ability. A knowing sigh leaves her at that. “You’re right, I haven’t. I’ll fix that.” 

“Good,” he nods as he knits his arms, seeming at least partially satisfied with that response. “Spar with me in the morning. I’ll make sure you make up for the lost time.”

An amused huff leaves her at that. “Oh? It’s only been a few days, Felix. It takes more than that for my ability to regress. You won’t get an easy win.”

Normally, she’d expect him to challenge her on that. To tell her how he’d defeat her one day, and maybe it would be tomorrow. But despite her pitiful attempt at a light-hearted tone, it only seems to make him scowl deeper. “ _Stop that_ ,” he snaps, clearly agitated as his hands grip harder at his arms, wrinkling the fabric of his sleeves. “I don’t _care_ about that.”

Now Byleth isn’t sure _what_ to think. He’s...certainly acting strangely. Since when did he _not care_ about defeating her? The question must be clear as day on her face, because he sighs in defeat, striding over to join her in the recess in the wall. He leans against the wall opposite her, sliding down until he’s sitting with his arms folded all the while. It’s not a large space, their legs are parallel to each other’s with little more than a few centimeters between. But even though he’d chosen to sit near her, as if to engage in conversation, he remains silent, orange eyes boring straight into her as she stares right back. It’s an awkward silence for a while as she waits for him to explain himself. Then she wonders if he’s waiting for _her_ to say something? But what would she say? He was the one who came up here looking for her. 

Finally, he exhales again, chin tilting down as he closes his eyes, though his brows still pull together tensely. “You’ve seen Dimitri slipping for a while now, you’ve seen how he snapped when Edelgard showed up and ambushed us. For years I’ve been the only one who’s seen it. Fuck, even now that he’s blatantly lost it, the others are still in denial about it. You’re the only other person who seems to realize the danger of it.”

Ah, so this was about Dimitri again. Perhaps she should feel ashamed for the slight pang of disappointment in her chest, but why would Felix be concerned about her? Everyone seemed to think she was more than capable of handling this situation, and Dimitri has been a friend of Felix’s far longer than she has. 

Did she even have the right to call him a friend, since she was still technically his professor? She feels like she’s heard some nonsense rule about that somewhere or other here, but it feels so weird to think that she can’t be friends with people nearly her same age because Rhea gave her a job she didn’t ask for (and technically wasn’t qualified for). “You’re worried about him,” she says with an understanding nod as she looks down at a tiny ball of lint on her tights and begins to try and pull it off.

Felix quirks a brow, which is unexpected. He shakes his head, but clarifies. “Of course I am. He’s going to run headlong into some fight he can’t win because he’s too focused on revenge, and it’s going to get him killed. But it’s nothing new. He’s been on a downward slope ever since Duscur, after his father and my brother died. I thought he was just struggling to deal with trauma and grief for a while, but…” He hesitates again, biting the insides of his cheeks as he looks up at her, as if questioning whether he should continue or not. All she returns is a blank stare, but clearly indicating she’s listening. It seems to be enough for him to speak again. 

“Two years ago, there was a Rebellion in western Faerghus, and he was dispatched as a Commander to quell it. I went with him. But he…” Felix’s gaze is downcast again, seemingly focused on an unassuming tile on the floor by his knee. “He didn’t just stop the rebellion and get it back under control. He _slaughtered_ them. Even those who swore to surrender or who were unarmed or retreating...He cut them all down and ordered his men to do the same. The bloodlust in his eyes and the malice in his smile...To see what he’d truly become haunted me. It’s why I haven’t been able to look at him the same, but no one believes me...except for you.” 

Byleth opens her mouth to speak, to ask why he’s telling her this, but she doesn’t get the chance. Felix’s gaze lifts again, this time holding her own as his voice becomes more firm. “He doesn’t listen to me and the others coddle him. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a lost cause, especially now. But _you_ aren’t.”

 _Now_ she’s truly bewildered. Her brows raise in confusion, skepticism thick in her dry tone. “Me?”

“Your father was just murdered by someone working with the empire, you’ve had a literal _goddess_ in your head who fused with you to cut you out of another dimension, some psychopath fused with your dead mother forcing you to kill her, and the archbishop has done fuck knows what to you and plans to do fuck knows what else…” There’s a heavy pause as the words settle in the air. He exhales again, voice softening just a bit, perhaps with a somber air if you listened closely enough. “You’re slipping, too. You’re angry or you cry, but you hide it. You’re not eating or sleeping like you should. I get it. I’ve been there.

“....But you’re not focusing on making yourself stronger, you’re focusing on finding…” he gives a dirty look to the pile of books in the corner. “...Fuck knows what because no one wants to come up with the answers themselves. You’re diving headlong into fights because you’re _angry_ ...Usually, you’re the one keeping us in line and making sure no one overextends and gets themselves killed, but in that last fight, you...you-” he almost seems incredulous now, holding his hands out in front of him as if sand is falling between his fingers. “You just _chased_ that woman into the woods so fast _none_ of us could keep up with you. I _lost sight_ of you, and by the time I caught up enough to see where you were, that bastard had cast some fucking spell on you that made you _disappear_ from the world _completely_.”

She now understands what he’s getting at. Why he told her about what happened with Dimitri. Byleth’s mouth hangs open just slightly, aghast with the realization of it. She can see the anger and frustration in his face, but that doesn’t surprise her. What truly strikes her is the _fear_ in his eyes, hiding behind the rest. 

Fear that she, too, would snap like Dimitri. 

He tries to swallow the dread that had been creeping into his voice, covering it with anger as best he can and only partially succeeding. “You’re smart enough to see it happening in him. Don’t be stupid and fall down that same path. I’m not going to watch it happen again to someone I…” 

The words catch in his throat and again he glares off to the side. His face is red, but in this dim lighting, it’s impossible to tell if it’s from anger or embarrassment. “Revenge won’t bring anyone back,” he finally snaps, bitterness lacing his tone like a serrated edge. No doubt Glenn is on his mind at that moment. “It’ll just get you killed. It’s not worth it.”

“Felix-” she starts, leaning forward to rest a hand on his shin, but immediately he stands up, pulling his leg out of reach. Her hand recoils back. Right, she should do that, even if it’s just an attempt at reassurance. He wasn’t like Mercedes or Annette or Ashe. 

“That’s all-” he huffs, already moving back to the staircase. 

Byleth turns on her hip to face his retreating form. “ _Felix_ ,” she calls firmly, sharp enough to call his attention back to her and stop just a step or two down. He looks at her red-faced and expectant rather than impatient.

She gives him a calm smile, realizing she hadn’t even truly considered the consequences of how she was reacting to everything going on. How reckless she was being in her turmoil. She nods at him, unsure how to express what she wants to convey. “Thanks.” she settles, figuring it’s as good as anything. Then for good measure, to make sure he knows his warning sunk in, she adds. “I’ll see you in the morning.” To spar again, like he suggested. 

He seems to accept it, the corner of his mouth twitching up just slightly. “Good. I expect-” He’s cut off by the rather embarrassing sound of gurgling, Byleth realizing a moment later that it’s her stomach _._ Yes, that’s something else she needs to do: eat. “You _still_ haven’t been eating enough, have you?” he asks with an accusatory bite to his voice.

Lips twisting in a shameful grimace, she shakes her head. “Should probably do that now, if I want to have any energy to fight you tomorrow.” She stands up and brushes imaginary dust from her shorts as she rises. She gives one last disdainful glance at the pile of books in the corner. “I think I know I’m not going to find anything useful here anyway.”

Felix nudges his head to the side sharply, indicating that she follow. “Come on, it’s late. There’s no kitchen staff, so I’ll help you make something. You eat enough on a normal day, I wouldn’t be surprised if you clear out the whole damn pantry after this long.”

Was that a joke now? She can’t help the smile that pulls to her lips, even if he says it like it’s just an exasperating fact. To be fair, it is. And perhaps that’s why it puts her at ease to hear him tease her like that. It’s another sense of normalcy to help drag her out of this pit of impending doom. She grabs her sword, so she isn’t leaving it unattended, and follows him down the staircase.

* * *

Only a few days remained until the Empire would be at their doorstep. The scouts reported that the approaching army was massive, that it would stand a significant chance of conquering the monastery, even with their best defenses. Those unfit for battle were evacuated to lessen potential casualties and maximize provisions. Some of her students seemed prepared for the upcoming battle, but many seemed conflicted...even afraid. Most of the students from the black eagles had left to join Edelgard’s cause. Only Dorothea and Bernadetta remained, along with Manuela. Though Byleth had seen how torn up her fellow professor was over the whole ordeal after Manuela had received a letter from the recently crowned emperor asking her to join her side. 

The mood on the grounds was grim, the atmosphere heavy. Even the usually cheerful gatekeeper seemed less chipper than normal. And _still_ people ask her. _What do we do?_ When she hides for a short reprieve, she’ll still see much the same when she checks the advice box in the middle of the night. There’s no escaping the terror that’s gripped the entire populace. Byleth is not afraid, but she can’t discern why. Whether it’s because she’s used to such dire situations...or if it’s because she feels like she has no other choice. If she were to express her worry, how much _more_ would the rest panic?

The weight on Byleth shoulders feels crushing now, as if she’ll fall straight through the ground below her feet from the force. 

That evening, a summons from Rhea pulls her away from the training grounds after another duel with Felix. He still hasn’t beat her, even the morning after their late-night conversation in Abyss. But oddly enough, it seems he truly _didn’t_ care. At least not for the time being. In truth, Felix rather seemed to _enjoy_ seeing her come out on top each time. Watching her fight had always been something he appreciated, but this felt...different. She doesn’t dare bring it up or think to ask him why.

The subtle elation in his eyes after her victory that night vanishes in a flash, replaced by cold skepticism when she tells him why she has to leave their sparring session early. Despite Byleth’s rocky footing and shaky trust with the archbishop since her father’s death, Byleth does not consider Rhea an enemy or a threat to herself. Or at least...not the _biggest_ threat, now that Edelgard’s true intentions have burst from the woodwork. Felix, however, couldn’t so much as hear mention of her _name_ without scowling and clenching his fists. It was clear that his sudden change in mood was less about Byleth cutting early and more directed at the reason _why_. 

“ _Be. Careful.”_ He’d said, annunciating each word for further emphasis. Her returning nod was perhaps not as convincing as it could have been, but she quickly departs before it can be questioned.

The audience chamber is empty, eerily silent. The only person there is Rhea, facing away as she stands next to the cathedra and gazes out the window ahead. A few steps in, Byleth comes to a stop. She says nothing to gain the other’s attention, she knows that Rhea is already aware of her presence. The stubborn side of Byleth refuses to request the archbishop's attention, instead choosing to wait for her to give it on her own.

And so it remains a standoff, devoid of any sound as Byleth waits for the woman to get on with it. Rhea had been the one who called her here, after all. And after a few more seconds of quiet ambiance, Rhea finally breaks it.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve summoned you,” she speaks, voice impossibly calm and smooth. As if there had never been any altercation between them before. As if they had spoken at all, really, since the Flame Emperor’s attack (which they hadn’t). But Rhea does not wait for a response, knowing that there likely isn’t one coming. She turns to look back over her shoulder, face somber and soft, but hopeful. “I know that you have been burdened with so much since you arrived at Garreg Mach, and even more so these past few moons...You must be tired, dear professor.” 

Somehow, despite it all, Rhea’s presence is calming, in the very way she carries herself and lilts her voice. There is an empathy there which had been obscured weeks ago by the pressure of duty. Which had been absent almost entirely more than a month prior. The rational part of Byleth’s mind knows there must be some other reason for it, but the rest of her is just too exhausted to bear it any thought. Byleth simply sighs, head tilting down in an incomplete nod as her eyes close. 

The archbishop now turns, descending from the dais to stand before Byleth, hands lightly clasped in front of her middle. “I understand that you have been exploring possibilities for us to best defend against the Empire’s blasphemous cause.” A hand lifts up to cup Byleth’s cheek, tilting her face back up and prompting her eyes to open again. Perhaps the dark circles are more obvious than she’d hoped. The gesture is as soothing as it is irritating. She doesn’t have the energy to decide which prevails. 

Rhea’s gentle smile fades, falling into a grave line. “You have worked so hard, but the reality is grim, I fear. We are outnumbered greatly, our chances of victory are slim. Any possibility of it would come at great cost...but I am sure that you know this. Yet you still wear yourself to the bone in search of a solution. I worry for you.”

Byleth’s words catch dry in her throat, unsure what to do with this attempt at comfort. Surely Rhea was not telling her to give up. Even if she did, it was not really an option. Rolling over, even in the face of certain doom, was simply not in her blood. “No battle is decided until it is over,” she replies, but it lacks the confidence she usually carries, feeling weaker as each word slips past her tongue. Green eyes cast downward in resignation. “But...I am aware of our chances.”

Rhea nods, pulling her hand back once more. “Only the goddess knows.” Byleth has to resist the urge to scoff. Sothis didn’t really seem to know all that much whenever they spoke, though she can almost hear her snarky response now that would have followed such an insulting thought from her host. Rhea’s head turns to the side, gazing at the painting of Sothis on the far wall, stretched across the sky with flowing robes and dragons in her wake. Byleth’s eyes follow, noting how... _different_ Sothis looked there compared to what she’d seen in her mind and dreams. Of course...chances were the painter had never actually _seen_ Sothis, after all.

“I understand that you were...hesitant...to receive a Divine Revelation from the goddess,” Rhea says, still perfectly calm. But Byleth can immediately feel her own shoulders tense at the reminder. If Rhea notices, she doesn’t acknowledge it. “I fear that in my anticipation, I pressed you before you felt you were ready. It is something I wish to remedy, however…” There’s a pause before she turns her attention back to the younger woman. “I fear that we may be running out of time.” 

Byleth opens her mouth to speak, but Rhea’s hand lifts up, signaling her to stop. Byleth complies, if only because she wants to know _why_ . Rhea’s hand lowers, and she continues in a voice still smooth as the silk draped over her shoulders. “I will not force you...but, I do implore that you consider it. There is a bleak future ahead for us all, undoubtedly. If there is any chance that we may prevail for the greater good of the world...Only the goddess can say. And only _you_ can hear her.”

The lump in her throat feels impossible to swallow. So many things she’d learned these last few months, she’s beginning to second-guess...Only to immediately suspect that perhaps, that was what Rhea was counting on. But skilled as Byleth is at reading others, Rhea is impossible to if she so chooses to be. Was she being genuine, or trying to manipulate her?

She can’t tell.

Silence falls for a moment as Byleth weighs her options, both looking potentially grim. However...one option only seems to be a risk to herself, and even then...it may not end up being so at all. Perhaps the goddess _would_ have simply spoken to her and warned her about Edelgard’s betrayal. It stood to reason. The ceremony was no secret, and the Imperial Army had shown up just in time to interrupt it. Perhaps she’d been overthinking it all...

The other option...it would put them all in peril. Teeth clench as she realizes there isn’t much of a choice to be made, but she can’t rush into this either. To act rashly could be the most dangerous choice of all.

“...And what if the goddess tells me all hope is lost?” The words come from somewhere deep within herself that she hadn’t even consciously been aware of. 

But Rhea just smiles, though it’s heavy and laden with a solemn glow. “Then she has granted us the time to say our goodbyes.”

* * *

Those words haunted Byleth more than anything else from that day. The thought of spending the next few days saying _goodbye_ to people she would inevitably lose...it’s unthinkable. She cannot even begin to fathom it, not with the loss of her father so fresh in her mind. But what would be worse? Knowing what was coming and having the time to spend those last moments in a meaningful way? Or hoping for the best and watching it all ripped away in blood and terror without so much as a chance to say a word to him?

It struck her even harder that someone specific had come to mind, despite how many friendships she’d formed here. She shakes her head as she lays back on the mattress, trying to coax the stress from her limbs. There’s no making this decision tonight, she’ll have to sleep on it. Come morning, she’ll think about it then.

The nightmares that plagued her sleep that night made the decision for her. 

Everything after that was a blur...Seeking out Rhea before the sun had even risen, descending into the Holy Tomb, dragging her leaden feet across the ground to sit upon the stone seat. Her nerves had her unbeating heart in her throat, terrified of what she would hear, of what would happen. Her fingers had twitched and tapped along the armrest in anticipation. Rhea had watched her with a burning gaze that seemed to be waiting for a miracle of epic proportions.

Nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

After that, it was just Rhea’s words that echoed through Byleth’s head as she stalked the monastery grounds. 

_“It was supposed to be but a step away. What could possibly be missing?”_

_“If our enemy invades the monastery, I will have no choice but to stand upon the battlefield. If something happens to me...I am entrusting my sacred duties to you.”_

_“You must have guessed it by now. The truth of who you are. Or perhaps I should say, your lost memories are surely beginning to return. I have acted all these long years as a mere proxy for you. But the duty is yours and yours alone. Only you can lead the people of Fodlan.”_

It drowns her. So many roles she’s expected to fill, things she’s expected to know, and not a single _damn answer_ to the questions that fill her mind. What was ‘ _a step away_ ’? What business did _Byleth_ , a mercenary who barely knew the meaning of religion, have _running_ the Church of Seiros? 

_What is the truth of_ **_who she is_ ** _?_ That’s the most frightening question of all. 

Something isn’t right...she’d known it in her gut and she let her guard down. This is what she gets. Failing to trust one’s instinct was a surefire way to get yourself killed. Somehow, this feels far more ominous than a blade to the gut. One more set of words echoes through her head, now. From months ago. But these words aren’t Rhea’s, but Hapi’s.

_“Someday you'll hate the church, too. They only hired you because they needed a warm body to fill the post. When you're of no use to them, they'll get rid of you without a second thought.”_

Back then, she’d thought her friend just cynical as she always is...What if she turned out to be _right?_

**~Felix~**

True to her word, Byleth had met him at the training grounds early the following morning, despite the late night. And as she always did, she beat him, despite him putting forth his best effort and then some. It used to frustrate him. Provided they survive this next battle, he’s sure it will frustrate him again. But right now, it’s a relief. She’s still strong, she’s still skilled, and most importantly...she isn’t losing her grip. It’s the familiar steadiness and brutal finesse he’s always known her to have, not something clumsy and laden with distracted frustration.

Felix wouldn’t be so arrogant as to think he’s the reason for it, but...he does feel like he got through on some level. Usually, when he _dares_ to express his concerns, he’s brushed off or told he’s overthinking it. It had been part of what stopped him from talking to Byleth about the changes he’d noticed in her for some days...Up until she’d all but vanished from public eye after the events in the Holy Tomb. Despite the fact she’d always listened to him before, sometimes people just can’t step back to see what they’re doing to _themselves_. 

But she did. It eases the building tension in his shoulders as much as it can. He’s come to terms with the beast he’ll see of Dimitri on the battleground. That would be enough of a handful to try and watch to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed. He’d been stressing over the possibility of having to reign them both in...The possibility of having to _choose_ one over the other if it came down to it. To prioritize his estranged childhood friend and the future King of Faerghus, or his…

Or his _what?_ Teacher? Sparring partner? _Companion_ ? None of those words seem to fit, but he can’t think of any others that do. All he knows is that when he lost Glenn, it destroyed him, when he lost Dimitri, it made him a guarded and impenetrable fortress. He doesn’t want to know what would become of him if he lost her too, even if he doesn’t fully understand the reason...Or rather, stubbornly _denies_ the possible reasons that do come to mind.

He’s spent his whole life avoiding romance. And he still is. He has better things to do than think about settling down with anyone, as he’d told his father many times, and rather adamantly after the man had the audacity to propose an arranged marriage for him. He didn’t even let him say to whom.

Felix didn’t speak to Rodrigue for weeks after that. All he could think about was Glenn. About how the only reason his father had bothered to even _consider_ such an arrangement was because Glenn was gone, and Felix was the new heir to the Fraldarius dukedom, no matter how much he _didn’t_ want it. He’d stormed off immediately and made it clear he would not even entertain the thought, but he’d also wanted to make sure that he never found out who his supposed ‘bride-to-be’ was...Felix does not _hate_ his father, though their relationship has been strained and animus at best, despite the letters they exchange...He does not want to have a reason to hate him. 

And if the man had proposed a betrothal to _Ingrid_ , Felix would never speak to him again. Because that would mean that he was _dead_ to his father. That he truly was nothing more than Glenn’s replacement. The thought of it makes his stomach churn.

He’d rather never know. 

The day before the Empire’s arrival, the energy around the monastery is conflicting. It’s grim, but hectic. Everywhere, artillery is being mobilized, spellcasters are forging protective barriers where they can, smithies are repairing and strengthening weapons and armor for the knights. He sees a number of higher-ranking members huddled in the knight’s hall discussing something...The broody mercenary woman seems focused, but the cocky blonde and the man who was Byleth’s...Uncle? He doesn’t know... They seem to be _laughing_ about something or other. What was there to laugh about at a time like this? They should be discussing strategies and battle plans. Byleth should be-

He blinks. Byleth should be working with them. But she isn’t, at least not that he’s seen. She hadn’t been at the pond, or the dining hall, or training grounds. None of the usual locations. And though he hasn’t deliberately sought her out today, it’s odd that they should never cross paths even once...save for the weeks she’d spent hiding away.

He hopes she hasn’t gone back to that...particularly not so soon. Particularly not if it’s because something _else_ happened. But she seemed fine last night. What could have possibly occurred in the short span of time since?

It’s only by chance that as he rounds the bend he runs into the red-headed girl from Abyss, Byleth’s friend. Normally he wouldn’t bother asking, but time is more of a luxury now than it had been before. “You. Have you seen Byleth?”

Hapi’s lip juts out in a rather disgruntled sort of boredom...Perhaps at being called ‘ _you_ ’, but it’s too late to remedy that now. “Yup. Don’t think she’s in any sort of mood to play stick-fight with you, though.”

Felix ignores her word-choice, less for karmic reasons and more because he just doesn’t have the patience to waste time on it. His brow pulls together, not liking what the overall statement implied, though sparring wasn’t his aim this time. “ _Why_? Did she say something?” This woman doesn’t need to know the reasons for his asking, she can think it’s for training for all he cares. 

“Nope. But Yuri said she had a summons with Rhea last night about the battle tomorrow, not sure on the details, though.” She pauses a moment, seeming lost in thought as she remembers something. “Hmm...She did leave the cathedral really early this morning looking a little rough. Seemed pretty odd. She’s not usually up before the sun, and I’m pretty sure she’s not one for morning prayer services.”

He grimaces at that. It _did_ seem odd. If Byleth was out of her room that early, it was to eat, train, or fish, not _pray_. It’s a struggle to keep the impatience out of his voice. He doesn’t succeed, his question still comes out curt: “Do you know where she went?” 

The woman shrugs, but there is a faint glimmer of concern in her eyes that weighs down the apathy in her expression. “Not sure. But judging by the look on her face? If I had to guess it…” She lifts a hand up near her mouth, thumb and pinky extended out as she tilts her head and wrist back in a drinking motion. 

That’s all he needs. It’s a lead, at least, and knowing what he does now, he feels the need to know what the hell might have happened. He speed walks up the stairs past the dormitories, before slipping through the hidden hole in the wall that led to Abyss.

Sure enough, he sees the familiar pattern of her jacket and recently mint-green hair at a small table in the tavern near the bar There’s a mug of something next to her, but she doesn’t seem to be paying it much attention. Though her back is to the entrance, he can tell she’s leaning onto the tabletop with her arms folded on it, chin resting on her forearms. A few residents give him wary eyes, his uniform clearly outing him as an above-grounder. But he pays them no mind, instead striding in and taking a seat across from her.

Byleth doesn’t stir much, just blinks as eerie green irises flit upward to look at him. She says nothing, but her gaze is unwavering enough to somehow speak the question ‘ _what?’_ . Felix won’t claim to be able to read her well, but he has made an effort to read her _better_ , and he knows this is not normal. Something is up. And considering the last places she’d been recently was the cathedral and with _Rhea_ , he has a strong guess that it’s related. “ _Now_ what?” he grumbles, but his frustration is cast at the source of the problem rather than her.

Something many people seemed to mistake for irritation at themselves (which is often the case, but not always), but if Byleth does take it personally, she doesn’t show it. She sighs, stretching one arm out across the table as she sits up rather begrudgingly. She won’t look him in the eyes now, though. Her fingers rap against the tabletop anxiously, other hand gripped around her arm perhaps a bit too tightly. 

She’s never had trouble holding eye contact with him. 

There’s something she doesn’t want to tell him. Felix squints, but hesitates before demanding she explain. He’s torn between wanting to know what has her so anxious, even around him after all she’s told him so far...and not wanting to push so far when she’s already let him in on so much. She’s clearly been pushed so far already...he doesn’t want to be the one to push her over the edge. So he sits there in impatient silence...waiting for her to either fill him in or tell him it’s none of his business. He’s already asked what happened. The ball is in her court.

Finally, she meets his gaze. He can’t quite discern the sharpness in her eyes, whether it’s from frustration or anger or hesitation. It’s so subtle that he can only guess. But finally, she opens her mouth to speak, and he doesn’t miss the tinge of _shame_ that bitterly laces her words.

“I _gave in_ ,” she mutters, the words falling from her mouth like her tongue had just been coated with poison. “I was so desperate to find answers that I went back to the Holy Tomb and did what she wanted…” Immediately after, she looks away again, treading the water somewhere amid regret and anger.

He blinks at that, genuinely shocked. She _willingly_ went back and sat on that throne? Didn’t tell anyone? Didn’t tell _him_? She should have come to him first, he could have talked her out of it, he could have made sure she didn’t-

Felix’s mouth opens to speak such things, but he’s rendered silent again. Should have come to him first? _Why?_ She was not beholden to him. She was free to make her own judgments, her own _mistakes_ . So why is it that he feels this strong _urge_ to protect her from the latter? Perhaps it’s because these are not mistakes she’s _chosen_ to make, but because everyone is pushing her towards them. She’s being manipulated and no one seems to see it. No one save for himself, those underground friends of hers…

And Rhea...because she’s the one pulling the strings. If Byleth had left the Cathedral this morning, then it must be her summons with Rhea the prior night that had driven her to it. So what the _hell_ did the archbishop say to her to make Byleth change her mind so suddenly? 

Why?... _Why?_ He desperately wants to know. 

“...What happened?” he asks instead. The 'why' doesn’t matter anymore. It’s done. What matters is what happens to her _now_ . Demanding to know _why_ she did it would likely only make her retreat further into her shame. In her shoes, that’s how he’d have felt, and they seem to be similar in many ways. He won’t risk making her feel stupider than she clearly already does. 

Was he right to do so? Suddenly the tension in her shoulders seems to relax, just slightly. As if she’d expected him to demand an answer to the question he’d just struggled to swallow. He files that note away into the recesses of his mind, cataloging it with the rest of his observations about her. The downward turn of regret on her lips deepens to a frustrated scowl, eyes narrowed down at the table so as not to direct her anger at him. “ _Nothing_ . Not a damn fuckin’ thing. I guess I should be _thankful_ for that, considering…” She exhales again, taking a breath as if to collect her thoughts and organize them into coherent words. “ _After_ nothing at all happened, she started muttering about something being _‘only a step away_ ’ and _‘what could be missing?’_ ...which sounds to me like...she was expecting something very specific to happen. That she _prepared_ for it...Which was _not_ the case when I spoke to her yesterday. Yesterday she just...said that it was worth a shot to see if maybe I could get some answers about how to defeat the empire…” By the end of the sentence, she’s trailed off into a sigh, looking more exhausted than anything. 

Felix’s hand curls into a fist where it rests on the table. So that was why. Rhea had taken advantage of Byleth’s desperation to get her to cooperate. It feels like there’s acid in his throat, the way he feels sickened by this development. Though he’d never been a devout follower of the church by any stretch of the imagination, it had just been ‘part of life’...he’s gone from questioning it’s self-proclaimed ‘purity’ to all-out believing it was corrupted from within. How else could everything that’s happened come to pass if that weren’t the case?

“Don’t do anything else she tells you to do,” he tells her. His voice is stern, firm, but it’s less a command and more of...insistent advice. Or perhaps, an attempt to parrot the words that he thinks are going through her own head. “I don’t know what this place wants with you, but if it wasn’t shady and underhanded, they’d be forward with you about it.” His gaze narrows. “People use manipulation when they don’t think there’s any other way to get what they want out of someone.” And he knows a thing or two about that, growing up in the Faerghus nobility, and growing up with a best friend who was quite the manipulator himself, much to Felix’s chagrin. “She controls the church, she doesn’t control _you_.” 

Her lip twists to the side at that, an indentation in the skin underneath indicating she’s biting down on it from the inside. Felix quirks a brow, having thought she was _aware_ that she was no beholden to Rhea. She was going to just _leave_ after all. She still could. After this battle, she could abandon this damned place before they could take what they wanted from her and wring her dry. 

_He could go with her._

The thought catches him off guard with how suddenly it appeared in his mind. He opens his mouth, slightly, the words nearly coming out. They could leave the monastery, go back to Fraldarius, fight for Faerghus, if she wanted…

“I know…” Byleth says, eyes downcast again, tension returning to her shoulders. His words don’t come out, there’s no room for them to with what she says next, the nail of her index finger scratching at the worn wooden surface of the table. “...But she said that she will have to fight in the upcoming battle, and that if she falls...She wants me to take her place as _archbishop_.” Her eyes flicker upward at him on the last part, voice thick with distaste.

Felix feels that same disgust in his chest at the thought of it. More and more pieces to this damn puzzle and it just makes less and less sense. He hates to admit that he wishes Sylvain was involved, he was the one who excelled at such games. Felix was a fighter, a decent strategist, and he could read a person’s intentions well enough...but these riddles are too outside his range of ability.

And he _loathes_ that fact. “You don’t have to do it just because she tells you she wants you to,” he reminds her, voice rolling with agitation. “Let Seteth do it or something, he already fucking knows enough to handle it. There’s literally _no point_ in making you do it.”

Byleth nods in resigned agreement. “It’s just _frustrating_. I didn’t even know about the church until I came here. There’s absolutely no reason that I should be the person she puts the mantle on. I can only assume it’s just another part of whatever plans she has for me…” Her brows knit together, now glaring down at the table again, a surface with carved profanities on it that Felix is struggling not to let fall from his lips. “Nevermind that I don’t know the first fucking thing about how to be religious, let alone run the whole church...Don’t exactly want to either…” the last part is muttered as she lifts her neglected mug again, downing the remainder of its contents and not appearing even the slightest bit flushed. If he wasn’t so preoccupied with the situation at hand, he might have wondered how many she could drink before it affected her swordplay. 

That’s it. He’s had it. Felix understands obligations and responsibility. He’s grown up in a world where it was expected of anyone with a crest. Though Glenn was the oldest and bore a minor crest of Fraldarius, Felix’s major crest had not absolved him from the stresses and expectations of his station. And after Glenn’s death...it had threatened to swallow him whole. It still does. Being at Garreg Mach has been a _blessing_ because here, even if only for a year, he can at least live his life the way he wants to. Before he has to go back home and prepare to become _Duke Fraldarius_. A title that belongs to his all-but-estranged father, a title that should have belonged to his brother.

A title he wants _nothing_ to do with. But he knew it was coming. He’s been prepared for it. It was his duty.

This was _not_ hers. He doesn’t know the details of the circumstances of her birth, but the ones he does know of are questionable and dark. Thought to be enough of a danger that her father took her away from it. She wasn’t being prepared for a position.

She was being held hostage to fill a goal. And she’s starting to resign herself to it. He doesn’t know why...maybe because her father isn’t here anymore to protect her from it. Maybe because she feels guilty about abandoning them all. But whatever the reason, he won’t stand for it. He won’t watch the church destroy her. 

And he certainly won’t watch her _let them_.

“ _Fuck them_ ,” he spits, not caring who hears. It’s Abyss, most of these people hated the church anyway. She looks up at him, blinking in mild surprise, but he doesn’t soften his tone. “You’re a _fighter_ . You’ve taken on any enemy that faced you sword in hand and shoulders steeled. And you’ve won every time. Not all your enemies will come at you with a blade, but that doesn’t mean you can’t _fight back_.” 

There’s a shift in her eyes, something softer...as if he’d struck something at her core with his words. And damn it, he hopes that he has. His knuckles have gone white where his fist is still clenched on the table, but he feels the slightest bit of relief. The church was powerful, but so was _she_. And he wouldn’t let her face it alone if she chose to stand against it: either with the most tactless brand of diplomacy, or with steel. He doesn’t care. There are better places for her in this world, places she’d be happy in. 

It strikes him how much he wants to be there to see it. 

Before she can say anything, the door to the tavern is thrown open and Felix looks up to see the lord of the underground storm in, an urgent look on his face. Everyone in the room turns to look, surprised at Yuri’s uncharacteristic lack of grace and poise upon entry. He approaches the table just as Byleth turns to look at him. 

“Bad news, friend. I’ve heard an unpleasant development, but there’s no time to discuss it now…” he glances to Felix once before back to her. “The Empire is at our doorstep.”

Both of them go wide-eyed with surprise, but she’s the first one to speak. “ _Now?_ We were told we had until dawn.” Even as she speaks, she shoots to her feet and so does Felix.

Yuri shakes his head. “We _were_ . The scout miscalculated. They’re already approaching the walls. We have to move _now_.” 

Byleth grabs the hilt of her relic weapon, turning to look at Felix. She motions towards the sword at his belt with a nudge of her head, and he moves his hand to rest on it as well, nodding in return. The corner of her lip twitches upward, but there’s no real emotion behind the action at first. “One battle at a time, then,” she says, the briefest hint of warmth on her words. 

He mirrors that ghost of a smile, knowing she’s acknowledging what he said. “One _victory_ at a time.”

Byleth’s smile lifts further, pleased at his response. Wasting no more time, the three of them sprint back to the monastery grounds.

* * *

And from there, it’s utter **_chaos_ ** . The knights are scrambling to rally defenses. Already the sky is red with smoke and the setting sun. Those who were being sent to evacuate were now being _rushed_ , only those who could fight were to remain. At some point, he’s separated from her. But there’s no time to look for her, not when he’s fighting alongside his classmates to beat back the onslaught of soldiers. He’s managed to find Sylvain, and breathes a sigh of relief. At least it’s someone else he can trust to have his back (and frankly, Sylvain will need him more than the other way around since the cavalier didn’t have time to grab his horse). And though they manage to make it through the first wave where they are, they can see the second wave filing in beyond the walls...and they’d be here soon. 

Reserve troops...He should have known it couldn’t be so easy.

“Welp...I was hoping we wouldn’t have to keep our promise this early,” Sylvain jokes, turning his lance over in his hand as he catches his breath and wipes the blood from his cheek...though it only works to smear more across his face. 

Felix just scoffs, because it isn’t _funny_ . “ _Don’t_ talk like that, idiot,” he scolds, spitting the words like venom. Even if Felix isn’t feeling particularly confident anymore after seeing how _vastly_ outnumbered and unprepared they are...He won’t vocalize it, and he won’t _hear_ it from anyone.

He will only admit defeat in _death_. 

“Right, right,” Sylvain sighs, somehow still grinning despite the predicament. “So, where’s our fearless leader?” He questions, looking about the expanse of the hill.

“Saw him at the base of the hill to the north,” Felix mutters as they start moving further out with the rest of the troops. “I’m sure he’s _fine_ . He’s just sating his bloodlust like the _beast_ he is.”

“Didn’t mean him,” Sylvain states simply, giving Felix a sideways glance. It’s then that Felix realizes he meant their professor. 

A grimace pulls to his face in response. He doesn’t like his own answer to that question. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since the beginning of the battle.” Orange gaze burns across the landscape, looking for any sign of bright green hair robed in black. “Knowing Byleth, she’s at the thick of it.” He grips tighter at his sword. “We should back her up. This side is covered.” 

As he moves to head towards the main front lines, he hears Sylvain chase after him with that all-too-familiar lilt in his tone, despite how inappropriate the location was. “Ooh~ So she’s _Byleth_ now, huh? When did _that_ start?” 

“Shut _up_ ,” he warns, in no mood to talk about this right now. “She-”

Immediately his words are cut off just as the sun is cut off above, an ear-splitting screech ringing out. Looking up, he sees a massive shadow fly past overhead, casting darkness over the landscape in its wake, and seeming to draw the very energy out of the air as it moved. Felix stares wide-eyed, hearing Sylvain’s shocked exclamation behind him: “Is that a fucking _dragon?!”_

Wherever it had come from didn’t matter. Though it seemed to be attacking the empire, that did not make it a reliable ally. Beasts cannot be trusted to spare the innocent; He’s seen that first-hand. But then he sees it: that flash of glowing read stretching out across the battlefield. She isn’t moving towards the dragon, but she has gone further into the fray, and she’s dangerously close to being too far ahead of their lines. _Damnit_ , he curses, wondering what the hell she’s doing, why there’s no one near her. “There, near the ravine,” he says, motioning for Sylvain to follow.

Sylvain gives two urgent taps to Felix’s shoulder with the back of his hand. He grunts, but ultimately turns to his companion, who is pointing to a small grouping of soldiers clad in black, acting as a guard for a tall man in dark robes. They’re not close, but it’s a short enough distance that Felix can make out certain features...features that are familiar, but he can’t place from where. Grey skin, white hair, dark face markings...Where has he seen it?

But it’s Sylvain who makes the connection, the light-hearted tones in his voice gone in an instant, replaced by a deep seething. “Isn’t that the guy who appeared out of nowhere when the professor tried to save her father?”

Felix freezes.

It _is_.

And the man is looking at Byleth now. She doesn’t seem to know he’s there. 

“ _Fuck!_ ” He rushes forward, needing to get down there as fast as possible. He has to warn her. Sylvain is hot on his heels, long legs enough to keep up with Felix’s raw speed. But even in a dead sprint, it doesn’t feel like he’s moving _fast_ enough. Byleth doesn’t seem to get any closer. An eerie glow seeps into his peripherals, Felix’s gaze flickering that direction just long enough to see the man conjure a dark spell. 

He’s not going to make it to her in time. 

“ _Byleth!_ ” He screams, hoping his voice will reach her first. And it does. She stops, pulling the whip-end of her sword back in from an attack as she turns around, her eyes widening as she sees them barreling towards her. It’s enough for her to recognize the warning, and she turns to find whatever danger he’s alerted her to.

But it’s too late. The dark mage unleashes the spell forward, a blinding violet light rushing forward, passing Felix’s path and seeming to singe the dirt beneath it as it goes. He’s forced to a halt to prevent himself from colliding with it, boots skidding along the loose dirt as he nearly loses balance on the hill. His breath hitches as the magic hits her, pushing her back towards the ravine and even further away from him, before it dissipates. For the briefest moment, he thinks she’s safe, she hasn’t gone over the edge, she’s still on her feet.

The blast of the spell, however, had compromised the ground beneath her, and it _shatters_. Time seems to be still for a moment, and he wonders if she’s using that ability the goddess gave her, if he’s able to feel it this time now that he knows about it. But it’s not her magic, it’s his eyes playing tricks on him...allowing him to get a solid look at her face before she falls out of view and into the abyss. Allowing him to see her expression morph from the stoic face he’d grown used to struggling to read, to something so blatant…

 _Fear_.

And that _scream_. He’s never heard her scream, and it echoes through his head as his blood runs cold. His hands are shaking, his sword slips from his grasp and hits the dirt at some point, but it doesn’t register. Nor does Sylvain’s arms hooking under his shoulders to drag him away and retreat with the rest. He hears her screaming even long after she’s disappeared...long after their caravan has fled for Faerghus and abandoned Garreg Mach, the battle declared lost so quickly. 

Felix had been so afraid that he would lose her the way he lost Dimitri…

He never thought he’d lose her the way he lost _Glenn_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. But it's because this chapter is twice as long as the others have been so...that's why lol. I just couldn't cut it down shorter with the way things went, and I wanna get to time skip so...HERE WE GO!
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	6. Arc II: Awaken - 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four years after Byleth's disappearance and the start of the war, Felix unexpectedly runs into some familiar faces.

  
**~Felix~**

It _reeks_ here.

The very air is heavy with the smell of booze, stale yeast, and body odor…Pungent enough to make Felix’s nose wrinkle with distaste upon entry. Sylvain doesn’t seem to care at all, sauntering through the threshold as if he owned the place. Felix’s shoulders remain hunched by his ears as he trails in behind, half here against his will, and half out of desperation to shut off his brain for a night. 

If he’s even that lucky. The more time passes, the less the old tricks seem to work. Perhaps the war is wearing him down. Or perhaps he’s just coming to realize that anytime he shares a bed with a stranger, he just spends more time thinking about how _pointless_ it is. Bedding random people at nearby taverns seemed to work like a charm for Sylvain, as it always did.

Felix envies that it’s so easy for him. Meanwhile, Felix could fuck all night and beat a training dummy into splinters well into the next day and still, the tension would never ease from his ever bow-strung shoulders. He takes his seat at the barstool next to his companion, muttering for any drink that will burn going down as Sylvain orders a mead. Felix’s eyes don’t so much as glance up as the mug is set in front of him, elbows and forearms lain on the counter as he hunches over it like that will reinforce the walls he’s built up over the years.

He realizes just how much he doesn’t want to be here. But they were traveling back to Fraldarius territory after confirming that Sreng was not at risk of breaking into Gautier. They won’t make it there before nightfall, so they had to stop at an inn anyway. Sylvain had made the joke maybe they’d be lucky enough they wouldn’t have to pay for a room. Felix had just scoffed in response. War or not, the two of them had more money than anyone else in this town. Felix paid for a room, anyway. He’s positive that he’ll be staying in it alone until the early hours of morning when Sylvain does his walk of shamelessness back in and thinks he’s being quiet enough not to wake Felix, who is likely already fitfully so. 

“So, anyone catching your eye?” The redhead asks, though there’s a slight bit of mockery tinging his voice, considering Felix hasn’t so much as looked around at anyone. 

  
“No,” he huffs, taking a swig of what appears to be a cheap whiskey. Good enough. “We’re not on vacation, Sylvain. If you stay up all night and wake up hungover, I’ll still drag you back to march at sun-up.” They don’t have time to be fucking around…figuratively or otherwise.

  
But Sylvain was never one to give up that easy. He wasn’t content with allowing his friend to stew in his own frustration in peace. “I know,” he grins. “That’s why I need to find you someone who will make you oversleep.” Despite the joking tone, Felix knows the man is half-serious.

  
“ _Sylvain_ ,” he growls. A single warning before he snaps at him. 

  
And the paladin knows that tone all too well. Slipping back into a more casual persona, he takes a drink of his own. “I’m kidding, Fe. I know we’re in a hurry.” And for a moment, Felix feels a pang of guilt for, once again, assuming the worst of his closest friend he’d known since he could walk. Felix sighs, but just gives a nod. The closest thing to an apology he ever really gave, particularly these days. 

  
But it appears Sylvain isn’t content to leave it at that. “Look, I’m just saying…I think it would do you some good to get some stress relief that doesn’t involve swordplay…” A brief pause. “Well, _your_ brand of swordplay, anyway.” 

Felix rolls his eyes, snorting into his mug as he goes to drink again. He sighs after, resisting the urge to knead his forehead with his calloused fingers. “Doesn’t help,” he mutters. Maybe it did for a while…two years or so ago. These days, though…maybe for half an hour at most, during the most intensive throes. But it wasn’t enough to make up for the empty void that fills his gut after. Man, woman, good, bad…didn’t matter. At this point, he’d rather just rely on his own hand and save himself and any potential partners the hassle. “Not gonna waste my time or anyone else’s.” Though, these days that was the main reason people walked into dives like this. A break from the war and destitution provided by the accessibility of alcohol and drunken patrons looking for a quick lay they’d never see again. Passing young travelers like the two of them were popular choices for locals who wanted a discreet rendezvous with minimal risks. It had worked well in the past. It likely would again…If he’d cared enough to try.

Sylvain, undeterred, and thinking he’s still _helping_ , proceeds to glance about the area anyway, and it’s not long before he seems to catch eyes on something. There’s some sort of hand movement in Felix’s peripherals that he’s elected to ignore, up until that same hand taps him on the shoulder twice to get his attention. He grunts, and begrudgingly looks to his companion, whose head nudges to the side. Against his better judgment, Felix turns to look and it’s obvious who Sylvain is referring to. “Not even _her_?” he urges with a suggestive lilt in his tone.

Had it been anyone else, most likely, he’d have turned away and blown it off. But the woman’s appearance strikes him, as she’s looking directly his way. Her hair is a stark blue…perhaps a bit more like the night sky rather than the sea at night. Eyes are bright green…though they lacked that ethereal hue. Nothing about her face really resembles her at all, particularly not when full lips pull into what is surely meant to be a seductive smile his way.  
  
Felix immediately turns away, glaring at Sylvain. “ _Don’t_ ,” he growls. If Sylvain thinks this is some sort of fun way of convincing him, by pointing out someone who even vaguely resembles her, it’s cruel. “ _No_ blue. _No_ green.” No nothing, he almost says, but his clenched teeth hold it back as he notices Sylvain seems genuinely perplexed. 

“Uhh…okay. I just meant because she was looking at you already.” Sylvain shrugs. “No time wasted if she’s already interested, yeah?” Felix just gives an unamused hmph just as the paladin seems to have realization dawn on him. There’s a few moments of silence, Sylvain’s blunt nails idly tapping at the countertop for a moment, clearly choosing his next words carefully. “Damn. Didn’t think you’d still be hung up on the professor after four years.” Though the words irritate Felix, the way he says them makes it clear he wasn’t intending it to be a jab. 

But even so, the very suggestion of it threatens to light him on fire. “I’m _not_ ,” he refutes all too quickly. The hand not gripping his mug curls in on itself, knuckles going white briefly behind the thick leather of his glove. But it doesn’t last long, sudden anger quickly giving way to disgruntled resignation. He’s lying to himself as much as he is Sylvain, but he can’t bring himself to say or feel or acknowledge any other feeling, no matter how contradictory his own words are.

“There’s no point in getting hung up on the dead. They aren’t coming back.” Not Glenn. Not Dimitri…And not Byleth.

Sylvain opens his mouth to speak, but he stops short as a scream rips through the air. It’s muffled, distant, indicating it’s from somewhere outside. Both of them turn to look towards the door, a few other concerned patrons glancing that way in curiosity. But just as they’re about to write it off as an isolated event, a string of more screaming and commotion follows from beyond the tavern walls. Sylvain looks to Felix and he looks back, a nod of understanding as they jump from their seats and hands fly to their weapons the moment they’re out the door. 

* * *

  


Felix feared the worst at the beginning. That it was the result of the Empire pushing through to try and divide the Gautier and Fraldarius territories. Unlikely, due to his father’s defense back home…but not impossible. Growing too comfortable with your position was exactly how one ended up _dead_ and _conquered_. And Felix is not in the business of losing. 

He’s already lost so much as it is…

But it wasn’t the case. It seemed to be a band of rogues, a gang of brigands looking to take advantage of the already war-ravaged state of the village…As if there was much left to rob from them. The splatter of blood across his face, blood that isn’t his own, slakes some of his pent-up frustrations. Bringing down a bastard who’d thought to target a child with his mother had proven more satisfying than any bedmate’s company…But even that is meager. Because he knows that this is not the first time this has happened, and it won’t be the last. And all the other times, he and Sylvain were not there to fight them off. Even now, they are the only ones with real prowess, a few local constables struggling to outmatch what outnumbers them. 

Felix brings his blade down on the arm of one of the men fighting against him…if you could call it that. He’s hardly been touched by any of these _thugs_. They don’t even come close. Even if he takes on multiple enemies at once, it’s a rare occasion he doesn’t come out on top. In truth, no single person had defeated Felix in a fight in years.   
Not since _her_.   
The thought is a dangerous distraction, one he puts out of mind immediately. Fiery eyes turn towards the lopped forearm lying in the patchy snow. The tattered sleeve is bloodsoaked and crumpled at the wrist. There’s a tattoo on the skin, a scorpion…looking more like a simplified symbol than an art piece. No doubt the other men wear the same. They certainly moved like a gang. 

Movement in his peripherals catches his attention and he sees three men running his direction, axes, and swords drawn to strike. Felix moves into a defensive stance, analyzing the best way to fend them off, when a sudden pool of darkness and eerie light encircled the ground around their feet. Felix freezes, not intending to get too close, but ready to move back if the magic makes its way towards him. Large glowing orbs of dark violet and black spring from the ground, swarming around the three enemies who had stopped in their tracks, now screaming as the dark magic sears their skin and burns them from the inside out. After a few moments, they’re little more than a half-liquid heap of limbs and warped faces piled on the dirt. Felix turns towards the sound of calm footsteps, unsure what to expect. 

An enemy of your enemy is not always a friend…and he’s seen dark magic like that before. So close to what he’d seen four years ago at the monastery…

But the face he sees emerge from the smoke and shadow is…familiar. Dark skin with hair and eyes the color of the flames that still burn a ways behind her. His brows furrow as he watches her skeptically, blade still at the ready. However, it’s not until she speaks that his suspicion morphs into realization.

“Hey, Fefe. Long time no see.” 

Felix’s grip loosens on his blade, but he affords a quick look around to make sure there are no enemies nearby before he lets down his guard. Sylvain appears to have skewered the last one in sight, peeling the corpse off the end of his lance that seems to _twitch_ with a life all its own. It had always been…unsettling.

He turns back to the woman…What was her name again? He hasn’t seen her since the academy, either. 

“Hapi,” he says with a nod, despite how his gut wrenches in his abdomen at seeing her again. This woman had once been close friends with Byleth. The fact that such a basic reminder can tug at him like this is _aggravating_ , and surely it must show on his face. 

When did he get so _weak_?

He attempts to steer the conversation somewhere that will take his mind with it, but what he comes up with would only make it worse. “I take it your shady counterpart is somewhere around here?” If seeing Hapi had brought back unpleasant memories, and he doesn’t even dislike _her_ …He can’t help but worry how unpleasant it will be to see _Yuri_ again.

An upward twitch of her lip is her first response, followed by a quick nudge of her head toward Sylvain. “I see yours is, too.” 

He hates to admit it, but that response draws an amused huff from him. Though most of the immediate threat appears to have been cut down by this point, Felix doesn’t sheathe his blade just yet. A brief shake of the sword rids it of some of the blood that clung to the steel. Frankly, he’s a little shocked to find them in Faerghus. War or not, weren’t they attached to that underground city at the monastery? “What are you doing up here, anyway?”  
A nudge of her head indicates the dead bodies she’d just reduced to a coagulating puddle. “Chasing down these guys, to put it simply.” Though, it didn’t sound like she intended to go into further detail. However, the quicksilver voice behind him appears to pick up the slack, and it feels like pinpricks at Felix’s spine. 

He turns to look over his shoulder, watching as Yuri wipes the blood off his blade on the tunic of a fresh corpse. The man doesn’t even look his way at first as he begins to speak. “You’ve been fighting your war, we’ve been fighting our own. Although…” pale eyes lift up to meet his own with purpose. “It seems that the two may be intersecting now.” 

Felix scowls. Why couldn’t the man just say what he means outright? The cryptic way Yuri speaks always grated on the swordsman’s patience. “What, these thugs are working with the empire?” He scoffs at the notion of it. “Not likely.” Edelgard’s forces were far strong, far more organized, far better equipped. This was just a rugged band of murdering thieves.   
And they _certainly_ weren’t working with the Kingdom.

“Not quite,” Yuri muses, perhaps all too casual as slides his blade back into his belt. “They’re a gang known as Orion’s Bane, and they’ve been _my_ bane for the better part of five years. Seems in the last year or so, however, they’ve developed a penchant for kidnapping. Including some of my own.”

His words raise more questions than they answer. But before he can snap, Hapi has stepped up into the circle of conversation, tone seeming a bit downtrodden more than anything. “Balthus and Constance went missing. They hadn’t been in Abyss since the whole…fiasco with the chalice, but…they always wrote us. Then they just…stopped. Honestly? At first, I assumed they were dead.”

Yuri’s expression seems to twist into something ugly as well, a small reminder that perhaps there is a human beneath the usual facade. “I was hesitant to jump to that conclusion, but…it seemed viable. Then a little birdie told us some interesting news.” He glances to his right, and Felix’s gaze follows…to find Sylvain leaning against his lance he’s embedded in the ground, chatting away with yet _another_ familiar face. The songstress from the Black Eagles class. “Apparently there were men with scorpion tattoos making frequent business transactions with the Emperor’s contacts. I know what the business was, they’ve tried it before in Abyss. But the black market for crest blood is one of the few trades I don’t tolerate in my domain.”

Felix had never disliked Dorothea, but as it stands…he finds it difficult to trust anyone from the empire these days…regardless of whether or not they’d been blindsided by their new emperor four years ago. Perhaps that suspicion is plain as day on his face, as Yuri picks up on it instantly.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Yuri says calmly. “I was skeptical myself, all things considered. But I don’t abandon my own, and I had no other leads. If crest blood from the Noa and Chevalier bloodlines was making its way into the empire…Then Constance and Balthus were likely still alive.” A weak, mirthless smile crosses his face. “Sometimes a leap of faith is all you have.”

“It worked out,” Hapi interjected. “We tracked them down, but they were…not in good shape. I don’t really know what Edelgard's goal is. I mean, I hate the Church, too. I wouldn’t lose any sleep if she burned it down. But…I thought that the crest system was one of her gripes with it. So between the crest blood and trying to steal the crest stones from the holy tomb…” She looks like she’s about to sigh, but restrains herself. Felix barely even remembered that she couldn’t without consequence. “I dunno. It doesn’t add up. And we just couldn’t stay on neutral ground anymore.” Yuri nods in agreement. 

It’s fair enough reasoning, Felix won’t deny that. Finally, he sheathes his sword now, the danger past. But he still isn’t sure what their goal is in being in Faerghus. Where they’re going, what they’re planning, who else they’re with. “So why are you here?” His curt tone isn’t as harsh as usual, but it still reeks of impatience. “Are you here to side with the Kingdom? Or just wipe out the rest of the scorpion gang?” Threat to crest-bearers, allies to the enemy, it didn’t really matter to Felix. If these two were just wanting revenge, then he wants nothing to do with them. Let them fight their own battle if they want. 

“A bit of both,” Yuri says with that fake grin of his...One that grows a little more genuine, but also a little more cruel. “But really, I just want to end this war so I can feed my people again instead of watching them starve along with me.” 

Felix’s lip twists in contemplation. Not the answer he’d expected, certainly not with that sort of expression…but the bitterness is undeniable. The anger isn’t blind, however. It’s pointed and purposeful. He wants to get Abyss back on stable footing, to keep the people safe and fed. Much as Felix is not the lord of the underground’s biggest fan, he can respect that. He nods in reply. He doesn’t need to know Hapi or Dorothea’s motivations, even if they differ. Hapi’s practical demeanor made her reliable and stable, and Dorothea…although a tease and sometimes _irritating_ , was not malicious. 

Frankly, the Kingdom could use all the help it could get. They’re in shambles.   
“Alright. Then I’ll consider us allies for the time being.” Arms folded over his chest. “We’re heading for Fraldarius territory at dawn. You should come with us.” _We need the backup_ , he thinks. But he can’t bring himself to admit that weakness.

As Felix turns to head back into the tavern, Yuri quirks a brow. “Your territory?” The way he asks the question suggests he’s less concerned about the territory and more curious about why Felix hadn’t chosen to call it such. All Felix can do is grit his teeth and fire back before he heads back inside. 

  
“It isn’t _mine_.” It was never meant to be his.

* * *

The others entered the tavern after him, grabbing a table and enjoying tankards of ale on the house as thanks for their efforts against the attack. There was more to their band than just the three of them. He doesn’t recognize most of the faces, he assumes their more of Yuri’s cronies. But apparently, they had picked up Ashe somewhere along the way. Apparently, after rescuing the other two members of the late Ashen Wolves house, they’d chased down what they could of Orion’s Bane all the way up north. Apparently they were looking for more targets to reap and profit from. People with crests.

People like himself and Sylvain. Like Ingrid. Rodrigue. Annette and Mercedes. Apparently, they suspected there was another branching heading southeast towards the Leicester Alliance for similar ends. It was an unsettling thought, but it just makes Felix _angry_. What Hapi said about Edelgard’s motives seeming contradictory sticks in his mind. He can’t make sense of it, either. But ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Edelgard was the enemy, regardless of her reasons or intentions. 

The table was small, it felt crowded with six people around it. Eventually, the alcohol shifted the conversation from serious discussions to a more lively and playful atmosphere. One that just causes Felix to push his own half-full drink aside and slouch back into his chair, as if that will distance him from it. They’re all going to be impossible to get moving in the morning. Eventually, he gets tired of watching Sylvain hit on Dorothea, and frankly…being around Yuri and Hapi just makes him think about her. Ashe is the only one not irritating him, and it seems he’s fallen asleep with his flushed cheeks buried into his forearms on the table. 

Felix gets up and leaves when no one seems to be paying him any mind. He heads back to the bar and orders something stronger, paying the bartended regardless. If the others aren’t going to get up easily, then he’s not going to agonize over it anymore tonight. The bartender tries to get him to talk, but Felix ignores him, shrugging off the attempt. He isn’t interested in spilling his guts to a stranger. Thankfully, the man takes the hint and moves on to someone else. 

It would seem that he isn’t going to get time to himself, however. Another body fills the seat beside him, and a quick glance reveals it’s Hapi. He gives a grunt of acknowledgment, but not much else. She says nothing, either, not so much as even glancing at him. Not even ordering a drink. Come to think of it, he didn’t see her drinking at the table, either. Though curious, he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t ask why she’s somewhat turned towards him if they aren’t talking. He doesn’t ask why she remains down here next to him while Yuri carries Ashe’s sleeping form upstairs or when Sylvain sends him a wink and a wave as he heads up with Dorothea. 

A few minutes later, though…he breaks. “What are you doing?”

Hapi perks up a moment, as if she hadn’t expected him to speak to her at all. “Hm?” Overall, though, she seems unconcerned, her voice flat as a blade. “Killing time.” 

Felix raises a brow, an invitation for her to elaborate.

She nudges her head up towards the stairs, before plopping her chin down on her fist. “Dorothea and I usually share a room. Pretty sure she’ll be occupied for a bit.” Tapping her fingertips idly on the countertop, she adds. “Plus if I sit with you, I’m less likely to be approached for similar reasons.” 

Felix snorts at that, quickly understanding what she means. He knew what it was like to share a hall with Sylvain, even with a room between them. Sharing a room with someone who invited him in was impossible. “Hope you didn’t plan on sleeping anytime soon, then.” 

She huffs in response, rolling her eyes knowingly. “I’m never up this late if I can help it. But she’s not so bad, and you can tell she needs a little release. She’s had a lot of guilt over defecting from the Empire, and I can’t really fuck her since I’m a liability.”

He abruptly turns towards her at the bluntness of her statement, which seems to amuse her a bit. “You… _what_?” He does not understand what she means by that. 

Hapi quirks a brow, as if the reasoning should be obvious. “You know how hard it is not to sigh during sex? I have to play mental gymnastics unless I wear a gag or have a partner that destroys me, which I’m not about to entrust to just anyone. It’s also why I don’t drink.” 

“Huh.” He can’t say he’s ever paid any attention to that, though he does hope the booze has flushed his cheeks enough that if the heat at such a conversation with a woman he doesn’t know all that well _does_ heat his face, it won’t be noticeable. He’ll also blame the alcohol on his slightly more humorous mood. “I guess that’s not exactly the kind of excitement most people are looking for, no.” 

“Tch. Myself included,” she scoffs as she lets her propped arm fall down on the countertop with a frustrated _thud_. “You have any idea how hard it is to get laid after the first guy you ever tried to fuck goes around telling everyone exactly why he was running through Abyss butt-ass naked after a giant worm busted through the wall?”

Felix nearly chokes on his drink that he’d taken a poorly timed swig of. Despite it, there is a small, low laugh from him that follows. He just…hadn’t expected it. It came out of nowhere. Shaking his head, the buzz in his head perhaps affecting his mood differently now that he has pleasant company. “Sounds like Abyss is full of cowards.”

A wry smile pulls to the pout on her lips, as if trying to hold back a laugh of her own. “You would look at it that way, wouldn’t you?” She shakes her head, bemused. “No wonder Byleth likes you so much.”

The sudden mention of her once again douses his mood like dumping a mug of mead on a candle: A flicker of anger followed by hard silence. Perhaps he’s more irritated that the woman talks about her as if she’s still _alive_. His dour mood returned full force, he snaps back at her. “You know she’s _dead_ , right?” 

Hapi frowns as well, but doesn’t say anything at first. She seems to be examining him, treading carefully over her next words before she speaks, giving a shrug at his harsh dismissal. “Well, I don’t think anyone really _knows_ that.” 

Against his better judgment, Felix pushes back, gaze narrowing at her suspiciously. “What, you really think she’s still out there?” Even he’s surprised by the slight hopeful undertone in his agitated words. And Hapi seems to pick up on it, but it’s too late to take it back now. 

“Yup.” It’s a response that seems entirely too brief and nonchalant to cover such a heavy topic, but…brevity was a language they both spoke well. “She cut a hole in the sky to escape some dark dimension or something, so…I don’t think a fall off a cliff is enough to kill her.” Felix opens his mouth to argue that it’s hardly a reason to hold out hope, but he doesn’t get the chance before she continues. “I’ve been through that ravine a lot and…I never found a body, so…I mean, when I was kidnapped as a kid, no one knew where I was. Definitely wasn’t any body to find, but…I wasn’t dead either. I don’t know, I still always hoped that somebody was out there looking for me and that I’d get out one day…Maybe I’m just doing it to make myself feel better, but…I can’t bring myself to stop looking.”

Felix is rendered silent at that, staring blankly at the mug in front of him. The very thought of drinking any more of it makes him sick. Did the woman have a point? Had he given up too quickly because he was just so used to losing the few people he gave a shit about? He isn’t sure what makes him feel worse…the concept that she could have died and her body been lost in a river…or the idea that she is alive out there somewhere…and she’s _trapped_ in someone’s prison. 

And he hasn’t been looking for her…He hasn’t looked for her, dead or alive, in three years. Because he didn’t have time. He didn’t have the resources. He didn’t have _hope_. 

He feels bile form at the back of his throat over it, entirely forgetting Hapi’s presence at all until she speaks up again, gently nudging his elbow with her own. 

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up over it. I don’t think you would have found her either…But, if you want to give it another go…We’re planning to head to the monastery for the Millenium anniversary thing, or whatever. That date we all promised to meet back there.”

Felix turns to look at her, somehow feeling a little less tension in his shoulders. He won’t get his hopes up, but…perhaps he shouldn’t have given up so quickly, either. Byleth wasn’t just some ordinary person, or a knight, or a prince. She was…something else entirely, even if no one, even herself, didn’t quite know what. “You think she’ll keep her promise?” It’s more of a rhetorical question, he knows that’s the hope they’re holding onto. 

“Welp. If she doesn’t, it’d be the first time.” And…well, she isn’t wrong about that. But her following statement nearly knocks Felix out of his chair. “Hopin’ the same for Dimitri, honestly.”

Felix is as incredulous as he is irritated now. “You think the _Boar_ is still alive, too? There’s a difference between being stubborn and being an idiot. He was executed. Framed and executed. I saw them take him away.” And he dares her to deny him on that count. They’d held his severed head up after for the world to see. Felix hadn’t been there. None of them had, as Fhirdiad had been lost long before. But word had spread quickly. 

She bites her lip, as if stifling the urge to sigh. “That’s what Cornelia wanted you all to think. She didn’t really have a choice, if people knew he got out, it would have compromised her power in the capital. She’s good at making people think what she wants them to.”

“ _You_ would know?” he scoffs, skeptically. Frankly, it sounded accurate, but only the nobility in Faerghus would really know that. Some girl from Abyss? Not likely. 

Hapi’s brow furrows, but that’s the only indication of her irritation. “Yup. She’s the woman who kidnapped me, held me captive for years, and gave me my wonderful sighing curse, so...I’d say I know her pretty damn well.” 

“ _What the fuck_ …” he mutters to himself at that. It’s a lot to take in. How does this woman seem to know so much in regards to a war she’s barely participated in? He isn’t sure whether to storm off in denial that any of it’s true, or to kick himself for not knowing _half_ of what she does. He looks back at her with tension set in his jaw, “And you think she lied about executing Dimitri?” The name rolls off his tongue and burns as it goes…he can’t remember the last time he said it.

“I know she did.” Rather than make him ask how she knows, she has enough sense to just spill the rest. He appreciates that she’s must more straight-forward than her companion, who seems to enjoy making everyone work for answers. She does, however, glance around to see who’s within earshot, and her voice lowers. Felix leans a bit closer to her, taking the hint that this is sensitive information. 

“Dedue wrote me, asking for help. Said he wanted to break in and rescue him but couldn’t get in on his own and an army would draw too much attention. Wasn’t sure why he wrote me specifically at first until he explained why.” She pauses, nails tapping anxiously on the countertop again. “Apparently he wanted me to sigh a few times, create enough of a distraction at the far wing without raising suspicion. Then he’d break in on the other wing and get Dimitri out before they could do anything about it. He definitely didn’t know about my connection with Cornelia, but ultimately, that was part of the reason I decided to go.” She sends a bitter smirk Felix’s way. “Couldn’t resist the opportunity to use the damn curse she put on me against her. Karma’s a real bitch.” 

Felix might have laughed at that if he wasn’t for the implications of what she was suggesting. “…And did he…?”

Hapi nods, but there’s a sadness that pulls at her face after. “Dimitri got out, Dedue didn’t…We made it out of Fhirdiad but, uh…” She glances at Felix, then shrugs. “I guess I don’t have to explain to you what kind of state he was in. He was hardly in one piece to begin with, I think losing Dedue finally made him snap. I couldn’t even tell if he recognized me, the way he acted. The first night we stopped to rest he was long gone before I woke up and…no one’s seen him since. So, I _do_ know he wasn’t executed, but…I can’t really say if he’s still _alive_.” 

There’s a heavy silence that follows. Hapi unsure if she should break it, Felix unsure what to even say. His mind is swimming with thoughts and emotions he can’t begin to wrap his head around. Is he more optimistic or more hopeless? Angry or relieved? Does he have more answers or questions? His forehead and elbows land on the counter, hands gripping at the back of his neck as he tries to calm his spinning head, the alcohol certainly not helping his stability. Eventually, he recovers enough to speak again, lifting his head up off the roughly polished wood. 

“So…your bright idea is to go back to the abandoned monastery in a year on the basis of some foolish promise we were roped into by our classmates four years ago?”

“Mhm,” she nods, clearly tiring out. He’s rather tired himself. 

He sighs, sounding more aggravated than anything, but…At this point, they’re desperate. The _last_ thing Felix wants to do is go looking for the dead, particularly not after he’d come close to closure on it. But without Byleth _or_ Dimitri, their days are numbered. They’ve been steadily losing for years, and their numbers aren’t getting any stronger. 

And…if there is any chance that Byleth _is_ out there…He can’t just sit back and pretend she’s dead. Not unless he sees her corpse with his own eyes. 

“Count me in,” he finally agrees, muttering just barely loud enough for her to hear as if that will save him any dignity when he’s drowning in anger and guilt. 

If she can sense his shame, she doesn’t acknowledge it. She mutters something, but it’s barely coherent. Clearly she’s having trouble staying awake. And he can’t very well let her sleep here at the bar by herself, knowing Sylvain and Dorothea will likely be ‘occupied’ for a while longer and there’s no guarantee they won’t pass out after with all the ale in their blood. Felix digs into his pocket, pulling out the key to his own room and slapping it down on the counter near her arm. “Room 12. I’ll sleep on the floor.” 

Hapi’s attention seems to return a bit, though she’s still groggy. Her eyes flit down to the key, then back up before she gives a weak nod. Her hand practically smacks the counter as she slides the key off the edge into her hand. “You can sleep in the bed if you want, I don’t give a shit. It’s not like I’m gonna proposition you.” 

He huffs at that. He doubts she’d even be conscious by the time he came up, with the way she’s dragging. As she stands up from the seat, she does make the effort to give him a half-smile of appreciation. “Thanks, Fefe.”

A grumble rolls in the back of Felix’s throat. “Stupid nickname…” he mutters. He always hated it. He doesn’t know why she can call everyone by their real ass names until she’s speaking to them, and then it’s those damn nicknames.

“Ha, the nicknames aren’t for you to like. I just don’t like being on a first-name basis with people. Makes things easier.”

He quirks a brow, having thought quite the opposite. Most people choose names to try and get _chummy_ with other people, not to keep them distant. “Even your boss? You two seem pretty close.” 

She scoffs a laugh. “You mean Yuri-bird? Ha. You should hear what I _used_ to call him.” Clearly, Hapi has no intention of telling him what that is, as she just turns and heads for the stairs, giving a lazy wave over her shoulder as she goes. 

Frankly, Felix is exhausted, too. But he’d like to also not be hungover in the morning. So he’ll stay up a while longer, after flagging down the bartender for water to help sober him up. By the time he’s feeling steady on his feet, there are only a few hours before sunrise. He won’t get any sleep on the floor, and that would make him even more unpleasant in the morning. So he takes up Hapi’s offer and collapses into the empty side of the bed. He’s asleep seemingly moments after he hits the pillow. 

* * *

  
They don’t get up at sunrise. Hapi got up first, her shifting on the mattress being what initially stirred Felix from a slumber that hardly made him feel rested. But the headache is dull and minimal, not throbbing and debilitating. It’s easy enough to crawl out of bed and get ready to march. 

Hapi heads downstairs, but Felix knows he has to make a quick stop elsewhere first. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know which room is Dorothea’s. Lucky him, Yuri is waiting in the hall, strangely by himself with his arms folded and back against the wall, one boot propped up behind him. Not wanting to waste any more time, he swallows his dislike of the man in favor of getting shit done. 

“Which room are they in?” he demands, curt as ever. 

Yuri is unperturbed, giving him a look of consideration before he turns his gaze down the hall in indication. “Twenty-six.”

Felix storms past until he reaches that number, and without a care for any of the neighboring patrons, he pounds a gloved fist on the door three times. The shoddy wood rattles under his assault, and he can hear a few gasps of shock from within, followed by the sound of someone falling to the floor in a heap. “ _Sylvain_. Get up. We need to get moving. We’re late.”

“ _Well good morning to him, too_ …” a female voice mutters, barely audible beyond the door. Felix doesn’t care, and goes to head back outside and prepare the horses. But just as soon as he’s stepped past Yuri, the man calls for his attention. 

“A moment of your time, Felix?” There’s that ever-present lilt in his tone, despite how serious it sounds overall. 

The swordsman pauses, reluctant, but he relents. Turning to the other man, he lets out a gruff sigh to indicate how inconvenienced he is by this interaction. “ _What?”_ His first thought is that he’s concerned about the ‘room switches’ the prior night, and frankly, Felix doesn’t give a damn about it. “I didn’t _try_ anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he growls. 

Yuri’s slight smile downturns at that, displeased at the implication. “Hapi is a grown woman and I am not her keeper. Where she sleeps or with who is not my concern.” The brief appearance of aggravation quickly disappears, as if it had never shown its face to begin with. “My intention is for a more _formal_ alliance between Abyss and the Kingdom. Neither is at their strongest, but we share an enemy. Put together, we might stand a fighting chance. Particularly if we can find our old friend.” 

Felix squints, unsure if he’s about to ask him to go to Garreg Mach on its thousandth anniversary as well, or if he’d already known that Hapi had done so. The man always had a knack for knowing things he likely shouldn’t. “So… _you_ think she’s out there, too?” He can’t help the skepticism that creeps into his words.

Yuri sighs, mulling over how he wants to respond. His index finger taps against the crook of his elbow. “Depends on the day. I’ve written her name down and crossed it out a few times over the years.” There’s a wistful note to the admission, even if Felix doesn’t really know what he’s referring to. Probably some sort of metaphor. The man loved to speak in riddles. “After almost losing two more of my circle, however…I’d scarcely say I’m more optimistic, but…you could say I’ve decided to belligerently deny that a little fall would bring her end.” He raises a brow at Felix, as if testing him with his following question. “Do you feel differently?”

**_Of course not_** , is the first thought that pops into Felix’s head. And it shocks him. Just yesterday, he’d been convinced she was gone. Now, he wants to be _furious_ that they dare to get his hopes up again. To instill some sense that maybe she _is_ alive somewhere, only for him to crash and burn all over again should they find her corpse. He barely manages to hold back the outburst, if only to save some face. That’s when he noticed the smirk on the other man’s face. Yuri wasn’t _testing_ him to see if he’d be useful in an alliance. 

He wanted him to _say_ it. He wanted Felix to say out loud that he believes it’s possible because he won’t realize he does until he hears the words from his own damn mouth. 

Felix hates that this man can so easily manipulate people. Even him. 

But he can’t deny that they could use him. He and Hapi and Dorothea and his gang of Abyssian miscreants. Finally, Felix lets the tension in his shoulder snap and go lax. His posture is still squared, but now with resolve, rather than frustration. 

“No.” He says. He doesn’t believe Byleth would die so easily. That doesn’t mean she _didn’t_. But nothing is set in stone yet. 

Just then, Sylvain and Dorothea practically stumble out of their room, dressed but sloppily so. There’s no more time to talk, they need to get moving. Fraldarius territory’s hold on the border was strong, but not impenetrable. They needed to get there as soon as possible. The entourage exits the tavern and mounts up for the journey. Yuri didn’t seem the least bit affected by the prior night’s antics. Hapi was perfectly alert, and Felix was in decent shape. Ashe, Sylvain, and Dorothea, however, looked rather worse for wear. To make sure those who weren’t hungover were steering the mounts, Ashe took the back of Yuri’s saddle, Sylvain the back of Hapi’s (since his weight would overburden a horse with either of the sober men), which left Dorothea to climb onto the back of Felix’s own. She gives him a weak greeting, to which Felix offers little more than a grunt of acknowledgment. He’ll consider giving her a proper one when she’s coherent enough to remember it. He’s done enough talking in the last twelve hours as it is. They head off to his home territory, and though Felix feels somewhat less demoralized than he had in some time, he doesn’t dare let optimism get in the way of realism. 

It’s another year before they’d make a final search at Garreg Mach. It was a long shot, and that was a long time to let one’s guard down. He’d keep the promise he’d made all those years ago alongside the others…But, Felix doesn’t know what will become of himself if he dares to hope for the best…

Only to discover the _worst_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I came up with this cool-ass name of "Orion's Bane" for the gang that's mentioned in Byleth's supports with Caspar and Yuri with the scorpion tattoos like 'yeah they don't have a name so it's cool', then rewatched the Yuri supports and realized they're just "The Scorpions". But that's dumb and I hate it, so I substitue canon for my own, since they will be a reoccurring enemy so they need a cool name~
> 
> Also, I drew this ages ago and so I had to include a scene that references it in some way lmao ---> [Twitter link](https://twitter.com/ShadowSayl/status/1236722788255358978)  
> I love Parks and Rec references.
> 
> As always FEEDBACK FUELS ME. I appreciate every single one of you who give me motivation to continue it really means more than you know <3
> 
> Also thanks to my betas Vi and Mel for helping me on stuck points :D


	7. Arc II: Awaken - 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth wakes up to find that she didn't die, but she did lose more than she bargained for.

**~Byleth~**

_-_ _How long do you intend to sleep? -_

Byleth doesn’t remember much more than that when her eyes begin to open. Just that familiar voice, a vague conversation…a chastisement for mouthing off again. She’d assumed it all a dream, the way it feels distant and fractured as consciousness returns to her. It quickly becomes a distant problem as the next thing she becomes acutely aware of is the amount of _pain_ that wracks her body.

A groan rumbles in the back of her throat, her every muscle seeming to groan as well as she struggles to move. Bit by bit, her senses start to come around enough that she’s aware of her surroundings. She can smell wet soil and the faint aroma of distant rot. Her skin is ice cold, and wet…she can feel icy running water running along her right arm and legs, shallow and slow. She can hear the trickle of it running along nearby stones as her vision finally comes back into focus.

Her arms are weak as she tries to push herself up, elbows trembling as her fingers sink further into the sodden dirt. She’s on a river bank, if you could call it that. It’s more like a glorified brook, but she can’t be bothered to care about the specifics at the moment. Mud and soil cling to her face and clothes as she struggles to her feet, every muscle in her body protesting at the movement. A dizzy spell threatens to knock her back off her feet it hits so hard, but Byleth manages to catch herself with a brief stagger. One hand moves to push the mess of her bangs up and out of her eyes. The weight of her hair suggests she probably looks half-brunette at the moment. But mud is the least of her worries as her memories start flooding back.

_Fuck!_

She quickly turns around, despite how light-headed she is after the action. She’d been fighting…the Sword of the Creator in her hand. Her hands are empty. A quick glance around shows that it’s nowhere to be seen, but she feels a familiar weight at her back. Lithe, aching fingers reach up over her shoulder to find the hilt where it’s supposed to be.

But _how?_ It had been in her _hand_. And she certainly didn’t set it back into the baldric mid-fall. What the hell happened? She tries to think back further. She remembers falling, the rush of her breath leaving her before she passed out from the lack of air…and the burn of the spell that hit her. That’s right. A blast of dark light, a powerful jolt of Miasma, far more potent than such a low-level spell had any right to be. She’d never known a base-rank spell to bodily push a person yards away before shattering the ground beneath them. She’d had no reason to expect it, had been entirely unprepared. In fact, she hadn’t even realized anyone was readying any sort of spell at her until…

Until Felix had shouted a warning to her.

Suddenly it all rushes back. The battle…She can tell at a glance that it’s long been over. There’s not a sound that rings out from the monastery above, the weather and time of day is entirely different. Goddess, how long had she been unconscious? Hours? Hopefully not _days_. She can’t imagine missing that much. But the biggest mystery is that…despite how sore and exhausted she is, she’s in one piece. Not broken bones, no blood or open wounds. That seems _impossible_ , looking up to see just how high the cliff was. Even falling into deep water at such a height should have killed her…or at least shattered some of her skeleton.

None of it makes sense. But she won’t find answers here in the river bank. She moves to leave, but an unfamiliar voice rings out behind her. Turning back, she sees a man she doesn’t know, concern lining his rugged features. “Hey, are you alright?” When all she does is blink in reply, he presses further. “…Where’d you come from, anyway? Didn’t expect to find anyone floating down here from the river. Only thing up there’s Garreg Mach and that place was abandoned.”

Fuck…that couldn’t be right. “What do you mean?” She tried to be stern, but her voice is so hoarse it doesn’t even sound like her own.

“Huh?” Her question just seems to confuse him more. “You don’t know? The Church of Seiros isn’t there anymore. There’s some squatters up there, I’ve heard, but you don’t look like one of ‘em.”

 _Squatters?_ That word shouldn’t be what he used. Squatters were people who settled into a place long abandoned for shelter and stayed there. It’s only been a few hours, surely. None of what the man was saying made any _damn_ sense. “What the hell are you talking about? Have you even _been_ to Garreg Mach?” She can see the decrepit village in the background behind him, surely having seen better days. Perhaps the man had never had the chance to leave it, perhaps they didn’t get sufficient communication down here.

Rather than looking offended, he just seems more worried. “You sure you’re alright? Maybe you hit your head or something.”

No. She’s not sure. But she knows for a _fact_ that hitting her head wouldn’t cause her to hallucinate about the last events she’d endured. “Nevermind,” she says bluntly, her voice slowly starting to return to normal. “I need to get back to my students. They’ll be looking for me.” Not that it’s any of the man’s business, but win or lose, she knows they’d be waiting for her somewhere, looking for her, even if they had to do so in secret to avoid detection.

…Assuming they’d all survived. She doesn’t want to _imagine_ the possibility that any of them hadn’t. That wasn’t an option. It just wasn’t.

As Byleth turns to leave, the man calls after her. “Students? Lady, there’s nobody up there. Garreg Mach fell five years ago when the Empire attacked.”

 _That_ , however, stops Byleth cold. Now he was being… _specific_. Terrifyingly specific. Who the hell was this guy? She wants to believe he’s another enemy in disguise, trying to throw her off and deceive her. But Byleth is good at reading people…and he genuinely just seems like a normal villager, acting the way any normal person would act after finding a woman half-conscious in a river. She looks over her shoulder, face stony, but mind reeling. “…What year is it?” The words only just barely don’t tremble as she speaks them.

“It’s the Ethereal Moon of year 1185,” he says, then shakes his head solemnly. “It’s a real shame about it, too. The Millennium Festival was supposed to be tomorrow. But, who’s got time to think about those things these days?”

Byleth doesn’t move. Her face blanches. That wasn’t possible. There’s absolutely _no way_ that five years have passed since she fell down the ravine. Humans couldn’t live that long without food and water, without shelter. Humans couldn’t fall hundreds of feet into an abyss and survive the fall. Her hand subconsciously moves up to claw at the skin of her chest where her heart should be.

_Humans also have beating hearts_ …

Before she can be consumed by an existential crisis, Byleth turns away once again. “I have to go,” is all she offers before she storms off. The man calls after her again with more concerns, but they fall on deaf ears. Either he’s full of shit and trying to distract her…Or she needs to see for _herself_ if he’s speaking truth.

And the long trek up the mountainous roads to the monastery begin to answer her questions. As far as the eye can see, the horizons themselves look different. Landscapes have changed, cities and villages surrounding the land have either gone quiet or fallen to some degree of ruin. There are no merchants or patrols treading the path she walks. Her only company is the impatient click of her heals on worn cobblestone and the caw of nearby crows. By the time she reaches the gates, her heart has begun to sink.

Destruction she expected. Even if they’d somehow managed to scrape a win from the bottom of the barrel, there was no chance the monastery wouldn’t sustain heavy damage from the Empire’s siege. It’s an easy enough way to try and convince herself that _that’s_ the only reason the gate has fallen inward off it’s hinges, why the friendly face no longer guards it, why the buildings are falling apart. But what cannot be accounted for is the thick overgrowth that’s begun to take over. Hedges that were painstakingly trimmed just yesterday now run wild, looking more like massive chaotic ferns that spill out into the paths. Beautifully bloomed roses are little more than dried and withered petals barely clinging to the ropes of thorns that weakly cling to the trellis archways. Her beloved fishing pond is filled with green algae, the water level lower than it should be. The bulletin boards are splintered and the wood rotted, parchment long shredded and erased by the erosion of weather. Spiderwebs line the corners of the pillars. The grass in the courtyards is as tall as her knees.

And that’s just what she can see outside. It’s only by the grace of the full moon that she can clearly see in the darkness around her.

These are not things that happen overnight. Nor even after a few days. The eerie silence makes her stomach turn, realizing that it has been a _while_. And if the man’s words are to be believed…It’s been _five years_.

She was supposed to meet her students here in a few hours…five years after they’d roped her into that promise. A way to reconnect long after they’d graduated. It seemed like such a distant future, something that didn’t feel real. One of those plans that sneaks up on you the week before and you have to scramble to prepare for it at the last moment.

Having the date sneak up on her like this was jarring. But they also hadn’t anticipated a war breaking out when that promise was made. She has no reason to believe that anyone would be bothered to even remember such a promise when they’re fighting for their lives.

Assuming they still _have_ them. Again, she forces that fear aside. She can’t bear to swallow the pill that they may have died in the attack. May have died in any of the years in between then and now.

She wanders the familiar grounds, unsure how much time has passed even since she entered through the fallen, rusted gate. But she enters one of the ruined buildings when a different smell finally wafts to her nose.

 _Blood…_ and the grotesque odor of bodily decay.

That’s when she sees the first of the bodies. Imperial soldiers, judging by the uniforms. But they don’t look like they’ve been there for years. Judging by the face of one near the stairs, it’s perhaps been a few days. It confuses her even more. There seems to be only more questions, and no answers to the plethora she already has.

Cautiously, she ascends the stairs. Her heels feel much too loud on the stone as they echo against the walls, no matter how light she treads. It takes some careful maneuvering to make her way up when corpses line the spiral ascent, her muscles groaning with every movement. Thankfully the blood has dried so she doesn’t slip on it. Landing on stone and dented metal armor would not be a pleasant fall. But it doesn’t escape her how _mangled_ the bodies are…clearly killed in brutal ways rather than granted clean deaths.

When she reaches the top, the carnage stops, like a breadcrumb trail to the assailant. She might have thought him a corpse too were he not supporting the weight of a silver lance. Byleth pauses, cautious in her approach. She doesn’t know if the man is a bandit or a squatter or something else entirely. But clearly, he’s _dangerous_. And she is far from recovered. The sunlight of dawn has just begun to pour through the holes in the collapsed ceiling, and as Byleth dares to step forward, the man responds. There’s a pained grunt from him as he shifts, slowly lifting his blood-spattered face to look at her. A single blue eye peaks out from the mess of blonde hair that clearly hasn’t been washed in some time. Something about him looks so familiar…it’s what draws her to step closer. But it’s his voice that chills her bones.

“…I should have known…that one day…you would be haunting me as well.”

_Dimitri_.

There’s no time to dwell on the ramifications of this brutal confirmation that years have passed since the empire attacked. She knows this is Dimitri. And he’s clearly much older than he was the last time she saw him. But he’s clearly far more _damaged_ as well, and the way it pains her unbeating heart is enough to distract her from her own anxieties for the moment.

Without thinking much of it, Byleth reaches forward, offering him a hand without a word. She doesn’t know what she can even say, her throat feels so dry. But that pain in his voice doesn’t go away, even when it begins to shift to anger as he ignores her outstretched hand and pushes himself to his feet.

“ _You_. What must I do to be _rid of you?”_

More ramblings spill from his lips with an anger previously unheard in his voice. Byleth’s hand returns to her side, but she holds her ground. The prince had always been significantly taller than her, but now he _towers_ over her, even with his back hunched as it is. The dark circles under his eye is alarming…even more so that the other is entirely covered by a patch…if it’s even there at all.

“What are you talking about?” She asks, concern lining her words. Something isn’t right. She wonders if perhaps, she’s imagining him. Her hand reaches out again, tentative, as it brushes along the armor that plates his forearm. Immediately, he steps back, eye going wide as he takes a defensive position, like a cat who’d never been shown kindness.

“It can’t be…You’re _alive_?!” But there’s no relief in his tone. Only harsh bitterness and suspicion, his tone _venomous_ as he accuses her of being an Imperial spy bent on killing him. Byleth’s heart sinks, realizing that it has, in fact, been half a decade since the Empire’s invasion. She’s rendered silent at that, her mind reeling as she tries to keep herself from passing out again. Dimitri is here…somehow…but where are the others? Why is _he_ here, seemingly alone?

She looks up, but he’s gone. A quick turn around and she can see his silhouette storming off down the hall. Her feet barely catch her when she stumbles trying to turn around, her muscles still sore and exhausted from…whatever it was that happened to her over the last few years. It takes an embarrassingly long time for her to catch up, limping along the way before she finds herself in the Cathedral. The rays of early morning pour through the gaping hole in the ceiling, reflecting on the pile of rubble where the altar once was. Even so, it doesn’t seem to cast away the shadow that cling’s to Dimitri’s form.

Pushing past pain and fatigue, she follows, catching up when he comes to a stop behind the mountain of fallen rocks and splintered wood. It takes her a moment to catch her breath. “Dimitri…” Her words fall short for a moment…unsure where to even begin. What to say, what to ask. So what she eventually chokes out is hardly thought-out. “What happened to you?” _To everyone._

He grunts, not even turning to look at her. “I have been dead, more or less.” He turns to look over his shoulder, blue eye boring into her with an icy glare. “I suppose you’ll claim much the same for yourself, won’t you?” Another huff filled with ire as he turns away. “We have more important things to worry about.”

Byleth exhales, hand resting on a nearby pillar to try and support her weight on unsteady legs. “The war…” she breathes, realizing that this can only mean it’s still going on. Unless…the war has already been _lost_. She can’t bear the thought of it.

There’s a stony silence from the prince, but he does not acknowledge her words. His ramblings begin again, she can’t be sure if he’s talking to her any more than he is talking to himself. “Can’t you smell them…? Rats and thieves…Vile vermin who taint these empty grounds with the scum of their existence, seeking _treasures_ they have no right to claim. They lurk in the ruins, looting and pillaging to the content of their black hearts before they retreat back here to bask and glut in their spoils…I’ll kill them. Every _last one_ …”

A shiver runs down Byleth’s spine at not only the depravity of his words, but the voice in which he says them. She recalls all too clearly how Dimitri had snapped…after all, it was only a few days ago for her. The images of the mangled corpses on the stairs return to her mind, realizing that it was Dimitri who’d torn them apart. The beast that Felix always spoke of in Dimitri is now on full display, no mask in sight to conceal the violent killer underneath.

_Felix…_

His voice shouting her name so clearly is still so fresh in her mind. It’s disorienting to think that for him, it was five years ago. Does he think her dead, too?

Is _he-_

“Now that _you’re_ here, we can sniff out their nest…” Dimitri growls, cutting off her morbid thoughts. “…eradicate them like the _rats_ they are…” There’s something sinister about the crooked grin on his face as he turns toward the exit.

 _Now?_ She has no idea what to expect. How many bandits are there? How are they armed? Do they have the high-ground? If Dimitri’s been here for days and hasn’t taken them on himself, despite how he’d torn through armed soldiers…she can only imagine there are _many_. Many more than she would likely be able to handle in her current state. She clutches at the pillar, leaning on it more as she calls after him. “Dimitri, I’m in no condition to fight…” The words burn as they leave her…she hated to admit such weakness.

But the prince seems to take no notice of her condition. A look of disgust crosses his features as he looks back to her. “ _Pathetic_. Cowardice does not become you, _Professor_.” The way he seems to _spit_ the title at her hits something in her core.

Well… _former_ title, she supposes. Green eyes go downcast to the worn floor, still trying to wrap her head around everything. Trying to figure out what to do, where to go from here. But it would seem, she isn’t given much choice. Dimitri grunts again as he turns away and continues towards the exit, lance in hand as he goes. “Then stay here if you are so _weak_. You’ll only get in my way…”

Her breath hitches. He was still going? If he didn’t think he could take them on alone before, she doubts he’ll be able to _now_. She isn’t sure what drives her more…the desire to make him see reason and keep him from getting himself killed, or the fear of being left alone in a world she knows nothing about anymore…Unhinged as he is, he’s the only tether she has to the past she knows. She doesn’t know any other way she’ll be able to find her footing again than to follow him. “Dimitri, wait-” she calls, voice cracking from her underused vocal chords. She trails after him, ignoring the way her muscles scream as she jogs to catch up.

It _pains_ her to see him like this. But it pains her even more that he no longer seems to hold her in _any_ regard other than _disdain_. He won’t listen to her as she tries to reason with him, he doesn’t even respond at all sometimes. If he does, it’s with animus ire. By the time they’re nearing the thieves’ lair, her breathing is growing labored from the exertion as well as the stress. “Dimitri, don’t do this,” she pleads, grabbing at the fabric of his tattered cloak. “You’ll get yourself _killed_.”

Finally he stops, but in an instant, he’s whirled around to face her, fury in his eye and a snarl on his lips as she finds the head of his silver lance unsettlingly close to her neck. Hot breath hits her face as she freezes, as if moving an inch would set him off. While part of her believes Dimitri would never kill her, or even hurt her…the rational part of her brain tells her that _he_ is not his rational self. She cannot take comfort in the safety of a bond that he believes broken. It takes all her effort to swallow the guilt that wells up inside.

“Do _not_ get in my way,” he warns with a savage growl. “I will purge these scum from Fodlan, with or without _your_ help…”

There’s no chance for her to back out now, however. His outburst has drawn the attention of nearby thieves. A whistle rings out over the rocky outcropping and figures appear on the ledge, silhouettes outlined by the torchlight beyond. Byleth curses under her breath and they shout to one another, mobilizing for an attack. But they’ve drawn Dimitri’s attention away from her. He lumbers toward them, lance at the ready. Byleth has no choice but to follow. They’ve already spotted her, and if any chase her on her own, she’s no match. While Dimitri doesn’t seem like he has the intention of protecting her, if she can stick close, she can hope that his desire for slaughter would get rid of anyone close before they could get to _her_.

She feels _pathetic_.

Her plan works at first, but there seems to be no end to the brigands. More and more pop out from behind walls and ruins and brush. The Sword of the Creator in her hand is powerful, but it can’t make up for how the rest of her is still _weak_. Fatigue settles deeper into her bones, her focus fades more as she exerts her energy and takes hits she should be more than capable of avoiding.

At some point…she turns around and realizes she can’t see Dimitri anymore. He’s gotten away from her. All she sees now is a line of thieves encircling her. Wicked grins full of dirty teeth sneer as she eyes them all cautiously. Byleth’s stance lowers defensively, but the strain on her knees is making it hard to stay up. Her blade feels heavy in her hands.

“So boys, how much do you think the empire would pay for that sword?” one snickers. “More or less than we’d get for the girl?”

“Empire don’t pay shit to thieves,” another spits. “Sell the sword to a collector, _keep_ the girl.”

They’re trying to intimidate her, she knows this. But the shake in her knees is from exhaustion, not fear. And they don’t know that. She can use that to her advantage, or so she hopes. Of course, that would be assuming that exhaustion doesn’t turn out to be a far greater weakness in this situation.

Her opponents aren’t armored, they don’t seem to have magic or shields. But they are fast, and they are numerous. The whip-like state of her blade was effective against multiple enemies, but not in such close combat. All around her are pillars and unsteady stone already on the verge of collapse and she could just as easily get buried if she made a wrong move. She’ll have to keep her blade whole, fight them off in melee range-

She’d taken too long to analyze her situation and two of the thieves to her right rushed in. Byleth is only just barely able to turn and block their attacks in time, but the others were quick on the follow-up. Just as her weapon connects, she feels the bite of steel cut through the flesh of her thigh. A cry of pain rips through her throat as she stumbles. In that moment, another smacks her dominant hand with the flat of his blade, crushing her fingers as she shouts again, the Sword of the Creator falling to the ground as she falls backward. Her spine connects with the remnants of a stone wall, head smacking against it. Disoriented, she can’t quite see straight or make out what’s going on around her, but still she immediately tries to move. She pushes up off it, unsteady on her feet even as she throws a punch in what she hopes is an enemy’s direction. Her fist connects, but unfortunately it’s with his nose. Though it sends him reeling back, the pain of broken bones now plagues both her hands.

_Fuck_.

And in that time, one of the men practically body slams her against the wall, her chest and cheek slamming into it painfully. The putrid smell of old ale and sweat and rotting teeth permeating her senses as she finds herself pinned by one of the men. Her elbow flies back and connects with the jaw of the man behind her, a sickening crack sounding on impact and immediately followed by a howl of agony that gives her some minuscule semblance of satisfaction. But it’s short-lived. She’s barely pulled her arm back before she finds it restrained, and within a blink there’s a swarm of hands on her. Pushing against her back, fingers digging into her arms, yanking at her hair. She struggles against it, but when she’s this outnumbered, disarmed, and drained, it does little more than earn her another unpleasant slam against the stone to disorient her further. Arms are wrenched behind her back as a cacophony of sounds flood her ears. The thieves a few paces away discussing how much they could get for the relic weapon, the thieves that have her subdued muttering and taunting her with vulgar obscenities that she’s grown used to drowning out since she was a teenager, the distant screams of these brigands’ comrades being torn to shreds by Dimitri somewhere further back in the ruins.

It’s not until she feels the rope wrapping around her wrists that she realizes the gravity of her situation, her broken fingers leaving her with little maneuverability against it. She weighs her options…and there aren’t many. Stubborn as she is, right now she needs to worry about survival rather than pride. There’s no fear in her voice when she calls out, but there is an urgency there, one that she hopes will carry over the fallen stone, screams of pain, and clash of blades where he is.

“Dimitri!”

She needs backup, and she needs it _now_. As she’s dragged away from the wall, she manages to kick one of her captors in the knee, hard enough to split his kneecap from where it should be. As the man crumples over in agony, Byleth still hears the distant sounds of bloodshed where the prince was at…But they’re getting _further away_.

He didn’t hear her. He didn’t hear her, or he can’t make it to her…

_Or he can’t be bothered…_

The last thought feels toxic as it rolls through her mind, bitter and pessimistic, but seeing how their brief interactions had gone just prior to this…she hates to admit that it’s a possibility. No matter how he may have admired her in the past…What loyalties should he hold to someone who’s been _dead_ for five years?

Another man tries to go for her ankles to restrain them as well as Byleth is forcible dragged back across the dirt. They’re scrambling to keep her subdued. But even as weakened and injured as she is, she far surpasses them in skill and finesse. Another swift kick of her leg drives the toe of her boot into a man’s throat, surely causing damage to his windpipe as he grabs for his own neck, toppling over with a heavy, strained wheeze. If they think she’s some helpless damsel, they’ll quickly learn otherwise.

But it would appear they’re tired of her breaking their bones and crushing their insides. After all, it’s much easier to carry off a limp body that doesn’t fight back. No doubt that’s why one lifts up his weapon, prepared to bring down the metal pommel on her skull to knock her out. She’s seen the maneuver before, used it countless times. And that’s the first time fear flickers through her head. If she loses consciousness again, who knows when or where she’ll wake up… _if she will_.

For the first time since Sothis had first stopped time to save her from Kostas back in Remire, Byleth uses Divine Pulse to save, not someone else…but to save _herself_.

Time freezes just as the end of the hilt is right above her forehead, colors inverting as shapes and sounds rewind around her. It’s straining, but she has no other choice. Dizziness and light-headedness threaten to knock her down, but she manages to stay on her feet, however she might waver on them. The bones in her hands knit back together, injuries gone but the phantom pains still lingering as she curls them around her weapon that returns to her hands. Within moments, she’s back where she was before. This time, she knows not to wait for them to attack first.

A wide arch of her sword cuts down two in front of her first, but the others still move in to attack. Byleth fights back, straining to keep her focus clear and her motions well-timed, but she’s failing. Her swordplay is clumsy by her standards, her footwork causing her to stumble on the uneven ground spattered with rubble. Out of desperation, she has to use the whip-like blade to defend herself against a small group that surrounds her. A few go down, along with a pillar nearby that collapses so close it crushes one of the brigands beneath its weight, and a stray stone block lands on her shoulder and knocks it out of place. She cries out, weapon falling from her hand as the other moves over to hold it. There isn’t time to push it back into position as the remaining enemies swarm her again, and she finds herself in a similar position as before. And she’s feeling fatigued, every muscle and bone is agonizing over her insistence that they exert themselves despite their memories of injury. She can’t keep doing this…She can’t keep wasting time and wasting magic. Not on _herself_.

One more time. She draws back the fabric of time like a curtain, finding her blade in hand and arms unbound once more. But this time, rather than fight them…

She _runs_.

There’s only one direction she can go. The way back is cut off by rogues, their attempt to make sure she didn’t get away. Her only option is to run further back into their camp. While that seems a poor idea on the surface, it will buy her time. She can move quickly through the ruins and catch up to Dimitri. While she’s not confident he would make any effort to protect her, his rather blind blood-lust suggests that he’d cut down any ‘rats’ in the vicinity…So that’s less for her to square up against in her current state of disadvantage.

Her thighs burn as she sprints, vaulting over fallen columns and collapsed walls to try and put as much distance between herself and her pursuers as she can. She can hear the sound of conflict getting closer as she runs, but she begins to realize that it’s not in _just_ one direction. Or…perhaps it is, but her somewhat delirious state is making it hard to pinpoint the exact source as it bounced from partial walls that are angled every which way. Her usual awareness of her surroundings has suffered as well, and she hops over another partially collapsed barrier only to realize that the ground was not at the same level on the other side. She yelps as her footing slips when she tries to over-correct, and rather than landing on her feet, she lands in the dirt on her side and shoulder, about four feet lower than she’d expected to.

It dazes her enough that she loses some of her lead. By the time she’s back on her feet, some of the thieves have caught up. Two powerful swings of her blade cut down one, but leave her open to a blow from another. She barely manages to block, but she finds her back to another wall as she holds her blade against that of her assailant. Her arms tremble under the pressure, bringing a revolting sneer to the man’s face. But Byleth doesn’t crumple, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t let any fear show on her face. She can’t _afford_ to.

The rogue’s expression changes suddenly, his breath hitching painfully in a heavy gulp as his body jolts. Byleth’s eyes widen, realizing that he is no longer actively pressing his sword against her own, and a line of crimson trickles out from the corner of his mouth. Her eyes glance downward, seeing the tip of an arrow jutting out from the man’s throat, a pool of blood oozing from the puncture. Byleth holds her breath, unsure of where the arrow could have come from. It couldn’t be Dimitri, but she doubts it’s a misfire from one of the man’s allies. As the thief collapses with his dying breath, however, she slumps back against the wall, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath before she has to fight again. Upon looking up, her brows shoot into her hairline, shock dominating her features suddenly.

Standing across the way with a bow in position and an expression to match her own, was the man who’d fired the arrow.

_Felix_.

**~Felix~**

He still isn’t sure about this. Of course he remembers that damn promise made all those years ago. But it had been made _before_ a declaration of war had thrown the whole continent into chaos. Before Dimitri had been arrested and charged with treason and murder and supposedly executed.

Before Byleth had fallen into an abyss, never to be seen or heard from again…

Originally, the plan had been to go back with Hapi and Yuri, but they’d left early to check on Abyss. Felix couldn’t afford to be out of Fraldarius territory that long, not with the way that Cornelia’s forces were pushing forward from Fhirdiad. Instead, he’d left at the last possible moment with Sylvain and Ingrid. The two of them had been cautiously optimistic about what they’d fine.

Felix wasn’t sure how to feel. But optimism wasn’t his strong suit, regardless of the conversation he’d had with Hapi a year ago.

And his skepticism feels justified at first. The monastery grounds were empty, save for a plethora of mutilated carcasses and a few stray cats that wouldn’t dare approach him even if he crouched to their level. Something vicious had certainly barreled through here recently that put them on edge. The sound of a distant clamor threatened to give the answer of exactly _what_.

Finding a throng of thieves at Garreg Mach using it as their stronghold was not at all surprising. The war had driven its original inhabitants out, and much of the population left had been rendered homeless. Any place that could be used as a semblance of shelter was plagued with squatters and brigands. Finding Dimitri thinking himself strong enough to take on every single one of them alone was no less surprising. They split up to drive the thieves away. Familiar faces crop up among the fight. Ashe has come up from Abyss at some point, Mercedes and Annette had been spotted nearby, Gilbert had for some reason crawled out of the woodwork for fuck knows what reason. Enough familiar faces had shown up that Felix hadn’t thought twice when he saw a brigand trying to strike someone down, even if he couldn’t see who it was.

The bow in his hand nearly fell the the ground in tandem with the rogue’s body when he was who it was.

“… _Byleth_?”

Disbelief coats his features as he stares back at her, noticing the way one hand weakly clutches at her relic sword as the other braces herself against the wall behind her. She looks weary, breathing heavy as she struggles to stand straight once again. It takes her a moment to catch her breath before she seems to realize what happened. Both stand there, frozen for a moment, even as Felix slowly begins to lower his bow.

“Felix.” Her voice is certain, but pitifully weak. He hates to hear her sound like that. He isn’t even sure that he believes what he sees at first. Was she an illusion? An impostor? Goddess knows he’s seen both when it came to the dead. But if it truly _is_ her there, what the fuck happened? Where has she been? Why does she look like death on her feet if he can’t see a scratch on her?

There’s no time to answer the plethora of questions right now, though. Not when he hears the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. With impressive speed, he replaces the bow at his back as his right hand rips his sword from his belt. Three enemies crest over the hill, seeming to expect only the woman they’d been chasing, and instead meeting his steel in their last moments. Not a one of them was a warrior, just thugs with no skill and weak drive for either selfishness or desperation. It’s not his job to judge which they are.

But they were hardly any level of threat to him. No challenge whatsoever. So why the _hell_ was she struggling so much? These are answers he knows will have to wait until later. For now, he needs to make sure she’s real and not about to _die_.

… _Again_.

Felix doesn’t sheath his sword, but he approaches her, burning gaze scrutinizing her every feature for any sign of deceit. “What’s the matter with you?” The words are out his mouth before he can think better on it. Not the best greeting for someone you haven’t seen in half a decade, but now isn’t the place for small talk even if they were the sort for that kind of bullshit.

Her face is blank as ever, but he detects something flash across her features at his words. Was it _shame?_ “I’m…” she seems to stumble for an explanation, either hiding her reasoning, or not sure how to vocalize them. “…I’m not at my best,” she finally settles for as she sways when she stands.

“Clearly,” he scoffs, unable to explain the mix of anger and uneasiness that settles in his gut. But even so, he can’t leave her here undefended when she’s clearly struggling. As weird as it is to see her face again, it feels even stranger to have to _protect_ her. She’d always seemed like this indestructible figure, someone immune to death, as foolish as it is to think such a thing. Perhaps that was something that had drawn him to her all those years ago, in addition to her strength and practicality. He’d been naive enough to believe that he couldn’t lose her to death.

Now he knows better. Even though she appears to be alive, he can see the vulnerability now. There will never be a person he finds that can’t be taken from him by the cruel hands of fate one way or another. Selfish a thought as it is, it’s one he can’t shake.

A sharp nudge of his head instructs her to follow him. “Stay close,” he grunts, turning to head back towards the others. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything else in that moment.

He doesn’t know what else to even say.

* * *

She isn’t useless as she follows. She still fights whenever they’re beset by more enemies, but he can see how slow her reactions are from what he remembers, how heavy the blade seems in her hands. More than once he’s had to step in to keep her head on her shoulders, taking a few unnecessary hits in the process. By the time they reach the others, there’s no time to be annoyed about it.

Their surroundings have fallen quiet, save for the conversation that flows between his allies on the eroded floor of a fallen temple. At first, none seem to notice his approach, their attentions too consumed by the hulking beast in matted furs who hunches before them, clutching his blood-laden lance as if there is still more battle to be had despite all their enemies being reduced back to dirt. There’s a palpable tension in the air, one that’s as obvious as the tension in Gilbert’s jaw and Ingrid’s shoulders and Sylvain’s smile. As Felix passes over the top step, he hears the gentle _click_ of Byleth’s stop just behind him, and suddenly all eyes are on them.

Well, not _them_. Any eyes in his direction are looking straight through him like he’s a phantom, honed in on the ghost that stands just behind him with looks of shock and awe on their faces. Is that what he’d looked like when he first saw her minutes ago? For some reason, he hopes not. He did not want to look like a slack-jawed fool who took every development at face value like so many others.

“Professor!” Annette is the first to break the silence, darting forward to greet their late teacher. Then in a swarm, all rush towards her, sputtering their shock and sadness and affections and worries. Felix only catches a glimpse of her face before it disappears behind the ring of her former students, and he can’t even begin to guess what he saw there. Just when he’d thought he was starting to learn to read her, she goes and vanishes…and all his progress is lost.

But Felix is not about to get into the middle of that. Instead, he stands where he is, blade still in his hand for some inexplicable reason as he avoids eye contact with Dimitri. Even so, he notices how the boar is the only one who did not seem at all surprised to see Byleth. He did not flinch, did not blink, did not approach her even as he can clearly see she is there. It seemed so…bizarre. Though he’s clearly regressed even further into the bestial entity that had started to claw it’s way out years ago, Dimitri had never missed an opportunity to vie for their professor’s attention. Like some love-sick puppy, he would trail her heels, bend over backward for her in ways unbecoming of his station, would make vile promises to bring her the heads of Kronya and Edelgard toward the end…or what they’d _believed_ was the end at the time.

Now he just stands there, silent and dour, remaining ice-hued eye staring down Felix. It makes the swordsman’s skin crawl, but also it infuriates him. Dimitri did not come with him, they’d suspected they would find him here. So if both he and Byleth were here, and he is not surprised by her presence, then he must have been aware she was in the vicinity when they were fighting the bandits. Felix scowls, fire-like irises lifting to meet the fallen prince’s gaze.

“When you are outnumbered in a battle, you are supposed to stay close to your allies,” he growls, uncertain if the man is even truly listening. “You _know_ that. So why the hell did you leave her on her own when she’s injured?” Or whatever the hell was wrong with her.

“…” Dimitri says nothing. He just continues to stare, ominous and eerie as he towers over the swordsman. It frustrates Felix even more.

“What? You have no answer for that, _boar_?” he spits, “Or have you become so deranged you no longer recognize ally from enemy?”

Again, he is met with silence for a moment. But just as Felix is about to give up on him and wave it off, Dimitri speaks. His voice is a low rumble, barely audible over the fountain of conversation that still erupts behind him as the others continue to pester Byleth. But Felix hears it clear as day, even if it sounds more like the growl of a beast than the voice of a prince.

“Another ghost come back to _haunt_ me…You will not leave me be until I bring you her _head_ on my lance. And that is _precisely_ what I will do…I _swear_ it, _Glenn_ …”

The name sends Felix’s blood into a boil, knuckles going white as the clench around the hilt of his sword. Sheathing his blade with an angry flourish, Felix simply snarls in reply, not having anything to say to that. The Dimitri he knew is not only feral, but _delusional_. He thinks he’s talking to a _ghost_ , an impossibility since the dead cannot walk the earth as some ethereal spirit. Even _worse_ , he cannot even recognize the distinct differences between Felix and Glenn, he’s so far gone. Whatever hopefulness Felix had dared to let fester in his gut seems to fizzle away at everything he’s seen. Yes, Byleth and Dimitri were alive…but at what cost? What had even become of them?

Before he causes a scene or draws the attention of the others, Felix storms away. And he does not look back, even if he feels like he’s being watched as he walks away.

* * *

Hours pass and Felix keeps his distance from the rest. He dares not go to the training grounds, knowing he would be found all too easily. Instead, he roams the walls, the abandoned corners, the reception hall…taking in every dilapidated doorway and collapsed ceiling and faded tapestry. The place had been left to absolute ruin, the Knights of Seiros having left long ago to search for the Archbishop…and Byleth. He remembers joining some of the searches early on…until he could no longer afford to leave his home territory chasing a distant hope.

By nightfall, more familiar faces show up, having been nearby enough to catch wind of Byleth’s ‘return’. Seteth and Flayn walk the halls, the boisterous knight who seemed to be related to Byleth somehow had arrived as well. The mercenary and her protege and the wielder of Thunderbrand, too. They all reconvene briefly, to discuss plans going forward against the Empire. Felix watches with a knot in his stomach at how Dimitri is too focused on slaughtering everyone in Adrestia rather than restoring peace. He won’t listen to anything else, which made for a rather abrupt meeting. And it seems that since Dimitri cannot be relied upon, everyone turns to Byleth once more.

Subtle as it is, there is one look that he has not forgotten when it crosses her features. Doubt, wariness. Felix sees her bottom lip shift just slightly, a result of her teeth digging into the skin on the inside. He sees how her jaw clenches at Seteth’s announcement that Rhea had left her duties as Archbishop to Byleth, and he feels a similar tension as he grits his teeth as well. Though Felix does not know quite what to think of Byleth’s absence, there is something that just seems cruel about thrusting every weight back onto her shoulders, and then some, when she’s been gone for so long.

…How much does she even know about what’s happened since that day?

When the meeting is called to end, Felix immediately turns on his heel to fade back into the shadows and avoid further confrontation. He has so much to sort out in his head, it feels like a fog. A very unpleasant, frustrated fog. But before he can get far, he feels a weight on his shoulder. Whipping around to scold whoever it is for stopping him, Felix bites his tongue when he sees that it’s just Sylvain.

“Hey, Fe. Where are you running off to so fast?” Despite his usual jovial tone, Felix can read the paladin like a damn book. There’s concern lining his voice. Felix can’t stand it.

Shrugging his companion's hand from his shoulder, Felix scoffs and shakes his head. “Nowhere. I just need to get away from the boar.” Not the full truth, but not a lie either.

Sylvain seems to nod in some semblance of understanding, but he isn’t entirely convinced. “Yeah, about that. Did he say something to you earlier? It definitely looked like it with the way you stormed off. I could practically see the smoke blowing out of your ears.”

“ _Tch_ …It was…nothing. Just forget it.” It wasn’t _nothing_ , that was for sure. But it is certainly _not_ a subject he wants to unpack right now. He does _not_ want to talk about how much it enrages him that Dimitri would mistake him for his brother’s _ghost_ , and practically leave Byleth for dead…no doubt thinking her a ghost as well. Felix continues to talk away, even as Sylvain falls into stride beside him. “He’s lost his damn mind. Dima’s not there anymore…Just a beast living in his corpse.”

Sylvain’s lips twist in discomfort, but…not disagreement. Because although Sylvain didn’t harp on it all the time as Felix did, the man was still sharp. He could still see it, even if he didn’t like to acknowledge it. “Yeah he…doesn’t look well, that’s for sure,” he says with a sigh. “But…maybe now that we’re here, we can help get him back on track, yeah?” There’s a hopeful look in Sylvain’s eyes, but it isn’t enough to compensate for the sadness that weighs down his pitiful attempt at a smile.

Felix hates to see it. He huffs in frustration, looking ahead once more as they continue to walk to nowhere in particular. “Yeah…maybe.” He doesn’t sound convinced, because he isn’t. But he just can’t bring himself to stamp out whatever tiny glimmer of optimism Sylvain is clinging to in regards to their childhood friend. He never could do that to Sylvain, no matter how deeply rooted his cynicism was embedded in his mind.

It seems to be enough. At least for the moment. The dark cloud that hung over Sylvain moments ago has at least started to disperse, even if it hangs about the area, ready to flare up once more. “Hey, at least the Professor’s here after all. Looks like wherever she was, it wasn’t gonna keep her from meeting up with us here today, eh? She always did keep her promises.”

Felix grits his teeth again, still not entirely sure how to react to Byleth’s return. “Sure,” he offers, unable to keep the bitterness from his tone. But he can’t look at Sylvain now, not wanting the man to try and read him. Felix prefers to keep his cards close to his chest.

But still, Sylvain quirks a brow. “Sure? Huh, thought you’d be happy to see the professor again, all things considered.” The casual shrug as if said ‘things’ should be obvious is a trap, Felix knows it is. He falls for it anyway.

“What _things_ are you talking about?”

The insufferable smirk appears, right on schedule. “Oh, you know. You used to demand she spar with you _all the time_ back at the academy. She was the only person you didn’t complain about unless it was because you couldn’t beat her at something. You always got jealous when she’d invite other people to tea, even though you don’t even like tea all that much.”

“I did _not_ get jealous,” Felix snaps, folding his arms over his chest. “I just hated seeing Dimitri flounder like some love-sick schoolboy when she’d invite him to have tea.” _He’s not good enough for her_ …But Felix swallows that last part, lest Sylvain use it to further fuel his fire.

“Wellll, you also didn’t like when she’d invite me either.” A slight waggle of his brow is clearly meant to antagonize. And it works.

 _You’re not good enough for her, either,_ he wants to say. But doesn’t. “Because you just flirt with her and leer at her like all the other women you talk to.”

“Hmm, yeah fair point fair point…” The red-head taps his index finger to his chin a moment, as if deep in thought, before shooting Felix a wicked smile that he _loathes_. “So, what’s the explanation for you getting miffed about her having tea with Ashe?”

Felix glares straight ahead, trying to will the blood not to rush to his cheeks as he feels them heating up. There is no logical explanation for that. There just isn’t. But he’s not going to _admit_ it. Least of all to Sylvain. Instead, he settles for glaring at him again as he snaps, “Is there a _point_ to this?”

Unmoved as always, he simply shrugs. “I’m just saying…We’ve spent the better part of five years looking for two people, and today we found them. I know you and Dimitri have your grievances and…he’s a little worse for wear…” The way his tone dips is brief, quick to brush the somber lining away, “But I figured you’d be glad to see the professor. Have you even talked to her yet?”

Felix is silent for a moment, unsure how to respond. Yes, he’d wished that Byleth was alive…But he’d never really thought about how to feel if they actually _found_ her. How he’d react, what he’d do, what he’d _say_ to her. Perhaps that’s why he keeps avoiding it. He doesn’t _know_. “Not really,” he finally dares to admit, refusing to look at Sylvain.

“Oh come on, Fe. Don’t tell me that you’re gonna let those years of pining go to waste-”

“I wasn’t _pining.”_

“-and with how much the both of you love beating the snot out of each other with training swords, I thought you’d at _least_ have challenged her to a spar by now-”

“Sylvain…”

“-and I mean, damn. She’s as gorgeous now as she was back during our academy days. If you’re not going to ask her on a date, maybe I will~”

 **“** _**Sylvain** _ _.”_

The venom in Felix’s tone seems to finally stop Sylvain’s rambling, but the man isn’t intimidated in the slightest. In fact, he seems rather smug. Felix can’t pinpoint exactly why until the red-head speaks again, voice smooth as silk as he uses his grating brand of teasing to coax Felix into admitting something he’s having difficulty coming to terms with.

“But the two of you are friends, _right?”_

Felix says nothing, but the huff of air that leaves him might as well be a _yes_.

“Then you should go talk to her. I know _talking_ isn’t really your strongest asset, but you can’t just avoid her forever.”

He grunts in reply, hating to admit that Sylvain is right, but knowing that he is. Felix doesn’t know what Byleth has dealt with over the last five years, but angry as he is that she seems just fine now, despite never letting anyone know she was alive, he knows that whatever it is couldn’t have been easy.

And…perhaps there was a reason she hadn’t been able to tell anyone…But he won’t know unless he asks her.

“Fine,” Felix digresses, choosing a neutral word rather than thanking Sylvain for the unsolicited advice. “…Later.” Even so, he’s not ready to have this conversation just yet. Before he picks up his pace to put some distance between them, his left hand raises dismissively, a silent gesture that he needs some time alone. Sylvain knows that signal well enough by now, and diverts his path down a different hallway. Felix doesn’t miss the flash of wine-colored cloth in his peripherals as his friend follows its trail.

* * *

The air on the bridge is frigid, the fjord below an impossibly long way down. Snow and frost seems to coat the rocks down below, while the cathedral to his left and academy grounds to his right remain virtually untouched by the ice. He never understood why Garreg Mach seemed immune to the wintry weather that coated Faerghus nearly year-round. He can’t even see the river below past the thick fog that obscures the bottom of the drop. Even still, he knows it’s a deadly fall, one that would end abruptly after suffering second after second of _terror_ on the way down.

He hears her _scream_ ring through his head again and pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to block it out. How did she survive? How did no one _find her_ for five years and she just _happens_ to show up today, here? None of it adds up, and his skull feels like its throbbing when he tries to make sense of it.

The softest click of a boot is his only warning that he’s not alone. Head whipping to the right, he sees the very woman plaguing his mind standing there, only a few paces away. He hadn’t heard her approach until she came to a stop…silent on her feet as she ever was.

Even in those _damned_ heels.

He stares at her in silence, and Byleth stares right back. Her wide-eyes and blank expression are familiar, but there’s a weight there he’s unfamiliar with. Not in the form of bags under the eyes or clenched teeth, but in her very eyes themselves. It’s so subtle but at the same time so potent, he wonders if he’s imagining it all together.

“Hey.” She finally breaks the silence.

“Hey,” is his curt response.

There’s a few moments of silence, neither sure what to even say. But Byleth at least makes an attempt. “You’ve been practicing the bow. Your aim is impressive.” Though her praise is genuine, it feels strained somehow.

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug as he looks back out over the bridge. “Versatility in this war is a necessity, not an option.”

He spots the movement of her nodding in his peripherals. “Has the Reason magic helped with that as well?”

“Wouldn’t know,” he snaps, unable to keep the bitterness from his tone as he continues to stare out into the distance. “The person who was supposed to finish teaching it to me disappeared.”

Though it was the truth, though he meant what he said, he regrets the harshness of it. Byleth’s gaze goes downcast in _shame_ , a look he’s never seen her wear before today and now he's seen it _twice_. Her hands fidget in front of her stomach, fingertips brushing along the length of her index finger on the opposite hand. “I’m sorry, Felix. It wasn’t my intention to disappear. I didn’t…mean to abandon you and the others. It was…out of my control.”

He turns his attention back to her, trying to will the scowl off his face, but only partially succeeding. He sighs, pushing his bangs back as he runs a hand up over his forehead and back through his hair. Better to just ask what he wants to before he lets further passive aggression slip through his tongue like a rusted switchblade.

“ _Where_ have you been?” He asks, impatient. “What _happened_ to you? Did the Empire have you? Did you hit your head and lose your memory until today, somehow?” Though he’s trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, there’s still a sharp edge to each word. “Because I struggle to think of any other reason that you would be _alive_ and let the rest of us think you were-”

He huffs and glances away. He can’t even say the word. Arms cross over his chest, as he mutters a bit less spitefully. “Why did you wait until _now_?” _Why didn’t you come find us? Why didn't you let us know you were alright? Why couldn’t we find you?_

The heaviness in her green eyes seems to grow, fingers falling still mid-fidget. “I…” there’s a heavy hesitation as she tries to speak, gaze unfocused, as if trying to pull answers from the very air around her. “I was…sleeping, I suppose…”

Dark brows knit together as he gawks at her skeptically. “ _Sleeping?”_ He isn’t convinced, particularly since even _she_ doesn’t sound convinced. But he’d never known her to be a liar, either. “How the _fuck_ do you sleep for five years at the bottom of a ravine where no one can find you?”

Her lips turn downward in a displeased scowl, but she’s staring down at the cobblestone by Felix’s boots, not at him. “Hell if I know,” she mutters, before emitting a frustrated sigh that confuses him anymore. “That’s what Seteth and Flayn described it as…like it was just some _normal_ thing for them…and me.”

The anger kindling in his veins has simmered down, beginning to realize that this was not some instance of her playing hero or being careless…but possibly something related to all the other strange discoveries she’d divulged to him all those years ago. It had been so long, he’d almost forgotten. And now that he looks closer…she looks _exactly_ the same as she had when he last saw her. Her face hasn’t aged a day, her hair hasn’t grown an inch, she’s even wearing the same exact clothes as the day she vanished.

Like she’d been frozen in time. Something that he normally would have dismissed as an impossibility…if Byleth didn’t have some limited ability to wind it back. Whatever happened to her was likely far more complicated than he could guess…and it seemed that Byleth wasn’t any closer to understanding. “So then…for the last five years, you’ve…” Been asleep? Been dead? Been _gone?_ What word even fits here?

The distance between them lessens as she steps forward. It appears that she’s going to lean on the wall next to him in a near mirrored pose. But before her elbows even rest on the stone wall, she looks down and swallows, an audible hitch in her breath as she stands straight up again and turns around, leaning back against the wall instead. Brushing it off, she shrugs as she tries to explain. “All I know is that to me…yesterday I sat on that throne. Yesterday Rhea named me her successor and told me that I should have guess ‘the truth of who I am’ by now…And yesterday I…fell.”

His eyes widen in realization. “ _Yesterday?”_

She meet his gaze with an uneasy nod. “To me, it all happened yesterday. Seteth said that I must have slept to recover from the fall…” Her arms fold in front of her, but hands brush along the skin subconsciously. “I guess…that makes sense. I don’t really have any injuries but…Earlier, my fingers were broken in the fight against the thieves. When I used Divine Pulse, it reversed the injury…but the phantom pains are still there. Waking up in the river earlier today was…like that, but everywhere. And five times worse. So, I guess I hit the ground after all.” The corner of her lip lifts in a half-amused smile, an attempt to lighten the mood with her dark brand of humor. “It sure as hell feels like I did.”

But he can’t find any reason to laugh at that. Because it means that there’s something Seteth and Rhea aren’t _telling_ her still, about why it is that she can fall to her death and recover with a five-year slumber. Why she has a goddamn pulse and _no heartbeat_. He scoffs, glaring back out at the abyss before him, and realizing that he can’t stand to look at it either. He turns, now mirroring how she leans against the wall. “So you don’t have a damn clue what’s been happening for the last five years, then?”

“Nope.”

“So I suppose it’s my turn to give _you_ homework then, is that it?”

Though his tone is as sharp as ever, it still draws a chuckle from her. It’s a sound he hasn’t heard in so long that it catches him off guard. For a half-second, he smiles. There’s so much shit to go over, far more important things to focus on before they can move forward. But he can’t deny that, in that moment, it was a relief to feel some semblance of the normalcy he’d become a stranger to. Soon enough, they’ll have to face the reality of the war and her absence and Dimitri’s delusions…But for just a few minutes, he wants to be able to step away from it. And he’s sure that she does too.

“Guess so,” she muses. “Gilbert’s…brief seminar was a very limited scope. I think you’d give me a more realistic view of the state of things.”

“Tch.” Of course, no doubt Gilbert primarily spoke of the issues surrounding _Dimitri_. “Someone has to. And in return, you’re going to spar with me again.”

“Oh?” The look she gives him is one of interest, more than anything.

“Once your…phantom pains wear off,” he clarifies. “While you were sleeping, I’ve been training. I want to see if I can surpass you yet. And it _won’t_ count unless you’re in full form.”

“Hm.” The pleased hum is enough of an answer, even as she looks up at the sky. “Well in that case, you had better beat me…” She turns to look at him, expression deadpan as ever, but he doesn’t miss the playful tinge in her words. “Or that would be rather embarrassing for you, wouldn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix vc: "While you were fucking SLEEPING, I studied the blade."
> 
> Sorry for the delay on this one, but it's another long one and I'm sorting out my medication which has affected my focus. But I hope this chapter wasn't too uneventful? There's some fun stuff coming up soon so I hope you're all willing to stick around! And as always, feedback is appreciated!


	8. Arc II: Awaken - 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth is still recovering from the fall...what a great time for an Imperial Invasion!

**~Byleth~**

By nightfall, not even the faintest prickling of sleep prods at her. Byleth is wide awake, clearly able to differentiate the deep aches within her body from any sense of exhaustion. How irritating it is to want to move around and have your body protest with every motion. Even faith magic wouldn’t do her any good, she wasn’t actually _injured_. So she grits her teeth and bears it, hiding the limp that tries to dominate her stride. Or perhaps having a limp on both legs just makes it easy to cancel them out.

It wasn’t a lie when she said she was going to bed. Felix had scoffed at that, no doubt holding back some remark of _‘haven’t you slept enough’._ She might have laughed at that…but she’s sure it would have been an empty, mirthless thing. Perhaps he was sure of that, too. She did retreat to her room, she did go to bed. She laid in it for about twenty minutes to let her aching body recover, but it didn’t make a damn bit of difference. Staring up at the ceiling all night was a surefire way to let her mind wander to dark corners and unpleasant what-ifs until the sun came up. It didn’t take long to realize that sleep would not take her tonight.  
A blessing as much as it was a curse.

Every cobweb and layer of dust that wasn’t there yesterday reminds her how much time she’d lost in the blink of an eye. Even after she’d cleared it all away to make the room resemble how it once was to some extent, it’s not enough. Closing herself behind a familiar door with unfamiliar weathering worn into the wood is simply not possible. So she leaves.

Where to go, though? To her right is the familiar pond, one she has no idea if there are still fish swimming beneath the thin sheet of ice forming on its surface as the winter creeps on. She decides against it, knowing she’ll have to walk by every single dorm room on her way there, and the chances of being spotted are almost guaranteed. She doesn’t need any of her well-meaning students trying to coax her back to bed and rest her “injuries”.

 _Former_ students, she reminds herself.

To her left is the training grounds…A familiar comfort on similarly stressful nights. Not this one, however. The desire to lift even a training sword is outweighed by the muscles in her arms threatening to seize up even at the thought. Just up the steps, however, is the sauna. It’s still standing, which can’t be said for some of the other structures she’s seen. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking that heat and steam could soothe the sensation of aching bones as much as it could bones that truly ached, but it’s worth a try. At the very least, it would be enough to help clear her mind, to clear her skin, and provide the illusion of that unique comfort only warmth can provide.  
If it can’t cure the aches, it can at least cure the chills.

It’s empty, of course. The common area dark, making it difficult to see before her eyes adjust. Were it not for the light of the waxing moon pooling through the blue stained glass, it would have been pitch. After a few moments, she’s able to spot the silhouette of the lantern in front of the window, and a small fire spell is enough to illuminate the candle within. Remarkable that things like _candles_ are still right where they’d been left, and yet her dorm room had been completely ransacked of all her belongings, presumably by the thieves who squatted on the grounds. Even her father’s journal and ring that he’d left her…they weren’t where she left them.  
Just another intense blow to her already fragile stability in this new world. Was it not enough to rob her of not only her _father_ and then _five years_ , but now it robs her of some of the few possessions she has of his? Her empty hand clutches possessively around the dagger that always sits at her hip. At least she still has this…and her coat.

Carrying it with her, she lights the others as well until every marr of the last five years is at least somewhat visible so she doesn’t trip on a missing floor tile. A loose piece of wood makes a good enough tool for removing the wall of spiderwebs that block the door to the sauna itself without having to unravel herself from the sticky silk afterward. The volcanic rocks still sit along the top of the heater. There’s a strangely dry, musty smell that clings to the wooden walls, but nothing nauseating.

A few minutes of fussing with the wood to fuel it, she’s able to get it lit and circulating enough that the heat begins to build. As it does, she exits to the main room rummaging through the closets to see what else is of use. There are spare candles, extra wood, more rocks, and a wooden bucket. A quick trip to the bathhouse next door and she’s able to scavenge a towel that isn’t wet with mildew and a bucket full of water that’s far from clean but will do well enough for the needed purpose.

Upon her return she strips down to her innermost layers and steps into the sauna, the wave of heat smacking her in the face as she pulls open the door. Bucket in hand, she lets the door shut behind her before easing some water onto the heated stones. Steam fills the room around her, filling her nose and lungs with thick, earthy air. Taking a seat on the bench near the door, she turns to the side, arms wrapped around her knees and back resting against the wall. Byleth attempts to focus on her breathing and nothing else, and somehow, it is easier when heat and steam pelt her entire self from the inside out.

She doesn’t sleep, but it’s the first semblance of relaxation she’s felt since she woke up. Arguably even before that, considering she’d been preparing for a siege and dealing with everything Rhea threw at her. Byleth isn’t sure what to make of the archbishop’s absence. According to the others, she’d also disappeared that day. Was she sleeping too? Or somewhere else. Byleth isn’t sure if she’d prefer to have Rhea here despite her questionable leadership, or if she prefers having all of that fall on her own shoulders…as it seems to now, considering Dimitri’s less than stable state.

The muffled sound of a door interrupts her train of thought. Opening her eyes, footsteps trailing into the common area. Someone else wanting to use the sauna perhaps? Unsure, she prepares for anything, but blanches when she hears a voice from just outside the sauna room.

“Really, Sylvain? You couldn’t wait until-” Before Byleth can say anything, Felix opens the door, but pauses, seeing no one in the room. “…tomorrow?” Glaring towards the heated stones, he grumbles, “He left the damn thing on, didn’t he? Idiot.” Felix steps into the room, presumably to turn it off, when Byleth finally clears her throat to draw his attention, since she was out of his line of sight from the doorway.

He whips around to spot the source of the sound, looking rather agitated…until he realized who it was. Perhaps it was just the heat of the room and his layers of fur, but she swears his face went red. “…Oh.” There’s a few moments of tense silence, as palpable as the steam in the room as he stares, mildly dumbfounded. Eventually, however, he recovers. Gaze cast to the side, a light cough of composure follows. “Earlier…Sylvain had mentioned getting this up and running, so…I assumed.” His arms fold across his chest, orange eyes flickering back in her direction, though his stance does not change. “I thought you went to bed.”

“I did,” she states, unflinching despite her state of partial undress. “Couldn’t sleep.” Though surely he’d guessed as much. The nod he gives confirms that. “Were you on your way back from the training grounds?”

“Yes,” he huffs, as if she’d been accusing him of something. “I saw the lights on and wanted to make sure Sylvain didn’t burn the place down or pass out doing-” he pauses, grimacing as he looks away again. “Being _Sylvain_.”

Her lips curve upward in amusement. “You were quite prepared to walk in on that.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” he scoffs, hands moving to rest heavily on his hips. Finally turning to face her fully, but carefully keeping his eyes on her face (as best he can), he grimaces. “Why are you in a towel?” She swears the color on his cheeks deepened.

“I don’t have other clothes, Felix.” The statement is so matter-of-fact, it could have sounded condescending were it not for the ever-blank expression on her face. “I didn’t want to sweat in them. But I figured it would be best not to be naked in case someone else came in.”

Yes, his face is _definitely_ redder. He seems to be scrambling for…well for reasons she can’t quite pinpoint. “…And what if that someone was a bandit?”

“I’ve fought bandits in less.” And it’s true. Thieves and brigands are notorious for taking advantage of unattended possessions when people are bathing in streams and lakes. “Did you need something? The open door is letting the cold in.” Already she feels the prickle of gooseflesh on her arm.

“Right,” he nods after a brief pause, as if he isn’t sure what to do about that. Leave and close it behind him? Or did he actually have something more to say and was debating how long he could survive in a sealed sauna when he’s wearing layers of fur.

The question would never find an answer, as the moment Felix looks toward the exit just behind him, the line of his lips tugs downward. Curious, Byleth leans over, trying to peek around the doorframe…which puts her at about eye-level with a man’s belt, his form leaning against a propped forearm just on the other side of it. Her gaze lifts to see a familiar face with lilac features. She blinks.

“Not quite how I pictured our fated reunion, friend. But I suppose this arrangement is in my favor.”

An unsurprising taunt from him, considering her current… _position_. She’d recognize that perfectly tailored lilt in his tone anywhere, but it doesn’t ring with the layer of warmth she’d grown accustomed to. Rather, it holds the same icy core Yuri wields when dealing with those he does not trust.

Or his _enemies_ _…_

“Yuri.” The name falls from her lips as if she _hadn_ _’t_ just seen him yesterday. She supposes that, in reality, she _hasn_ _’t_. Not as far as his memories go, anyway.

 _“You_ were _late_.” Felix’s tone reeks less of agitation and more of the grumblings of a child who’s just been scolded.

“While the rest of you were searching topside, we were digging through the depths,” is all Yuri offers him in response. “Imagine the state your dear professor would have been in had we all met in the same location and she turned up in Abyss, hm?”

Felix huffs, but otherwise dismisses the argument.

“Well, _former_ professor, I suppose?” The question in his eyes is pointed yet subtle. There’s something he’s skeptical about. Perhaps that’s the logical response to someone who has been rumored dead for five years. Yet, everyone else simply seemed to accept it, shocked as they all were. Something tells her that the title isn’t really what Yuri is questioning.

“I suppose,” Byleth mutters, eyeing him with uncertainty. Nevermind that as far as her memory went, she was a professor just _yesterday._

“Yuri-bird, just get it over with.” Hapi steps into the room, squeezing past the men in the doorway with her usual lack of finesse. “Hey, Chatterbox.” The familiar warmth missing from Yuri’s greeting is present in Hapi’s, at least. The half-smile on her lips is mirrored on Byleth’s. She has half a mind to stand up and properly greet them, however, she isn’t so sure the towel on her torso can be trusted to stay in place. Less for her sake or that of her Abyssian companions, and more for Felix’s, considering how flushed his face has been since he entered.

The narrowed set of his brow, however, seems to be more related to whatever it is they need to ‘get over with’. “What, you think she’s another imposter?” He scoffs. “Weren’t _you_ the one who insisted she was _alive_?”

What part of that hits harder…That despite the absence, Hapi still believed she was alive and worth looking for?  
Or that Felix sounded like he _didn_ _’t?_

“Uh, yeah, but that doesn’t automatically mean this is her.” She shakes her head. “Look, I’m not that worried. You seem pretty much like yourself and that wasn’t the case with the others, but…it’s been a long time…”

“If a perfect physical disguise can be conjured to infiltrate our ranks in a year,” Yuri chimes in, voice somewhat grave with hard-set eyes of matching stone. “Then think of how well prepared they could make an impostor in _five_.”

“She has the Sword of the Creator,” Felix interrupts. “It was glowing when I found her.”

Yuri shrugs. “One with an artificial crest or sword could create the same illusion.” It seemed he was taking no chances. Honestly, it was the smart stance to take, especially if they’re in the midst of a brutal war.

Byleth ponders, glancing down at the terry-cloth around her thighs as she thinks. Her head lifts once more as she tries to assist. “Aelfric tried to resurrect my mother in Abyss using the Chalice of Beginnings.”

Hapi winces at the memory. Yuri simply shakes his head, as if he wanted to accept such an answer, but couldn’t. “Sorry, friend. As much as it pains me to say it, that information could have been bought or gleaned from anyone in Abyss who was around for that…mess.” He exhales. “It’s not so secret as you might have hoped.”

Lips twist into a grimace at that fact. Sure, it may not be common knowledge, but…her skin crawled at the thought of wagging tongues tossing around that series of events and convoluting it to their whims. But anything else that she can think to share…are secrets that only _she_ knows. Perhaps she could use Divine Pulse? But she _hated_ to waste it off the battlefield. The world they existed in was far from stable. Irreversible chaos could erupt at any moment.

“She doesn’t have a heartbeat.”

All three faces turn to look at Felix, all surprised.

He gives an uneasy glance to Byleth. That was a piece of information that she’d told him in confidence, after all. Had he recalled that before he spoke? Or was he now wishing he’d bit his tongue.

She supposes it wouldn’t hurt for these two to know.

“Uh, what?” Hapi breaks the silence first.

Impatience coats Felix’s tongue, as if what he stated should not _need_ further context. “If she’s the real Byleth, then she won’t have a heartbeat.” Another sideways glance Byleth’s way, calculating exactly how much detail to divulge. Her blank expression does not shift. “She told me, five years ago. I don’t know why, she just doesn’t. She showed me.”

Yuri rolls the rather unthinkable suggestion over in his mind, never comfortable with _not_ knowing things, particularly when he’s faced with them. “Alright, then.” Taking a step further in the door, Yuri holds out his hand, gesturing for her own. “Let me see.”

To try and win some of his trust, she gives her arm, but shakes her head. “You won’t be able to tell that way.” But already his fingers are pressing into her pulse point.

“I said _heartbeat_ ,” Felix spits, “…not _pulse_.”

The trickster’s patience is a bit thinner when he regards the swordsman. “Do they not teach you nobles basic anatomy these days?”

Felix visibly bristles, opening his mouth to retaliate. Fortunately, Hapi beats him to it. “He has a point, Yuri-bird. Byleth’s not exactly your average person…there’s a lot of rules that don’t seem to apply to her. Having a pulse without a heartbeat wouldn’t be the craziest thing we know about her.”

That seems to be enough. Yuri takes a step back, releasing Byleth’s hand as he makes a slight sweeping gesture with his hand. “I’ll leave that to you, then, Hapi-bird. I believe it would be ill-advised to lay my hands on her in such a state of undress.” Sly smirk and sideways glance toward Felix follow the taunt.

Felix snorts and looks away, glaring off towards the heated stone furnace as Hapi complies, a warm hand far more calloused than one might expect laying on Byleth’s just above the line of her towel. After a few moments, however…the woman decides to lean down and press her ear against the skin. Byleth holds still, glancing about the area. Alright, she supposes that’s a valid way to be sure.

“Damn, you weren’t kidding,” Hapi mutters to no one specific. “Not a damn thing.” Though she sounds surprised, she’s far from disappointed. Relieved, even.

And Yuri’s mood appears to follow suit, the layer of cautious ice thawing in a single breath that loosens his shoulders. “Well then, good to have you back, friend. I had long hoped we’d have such luck, but I’ve found it running a bit short of late. Can’t be too careful these days.”

Byleth just shakes her head. “Considering how many times we’ve been undone by familiar faces, I don’t blame you.” She doesn’t have it in her to be offended that they questioned her when no one else did. Would she have done the same? “But it’s good to see you too. Both of you.”

Yuri gives a genuine nod at that. “I suppose we can catch up another time. It’s rather late…which means my responsibilities are just beginning.” A small sigh, reeking of the ever-Yuriesque combination of overdramatization mixed with genuine exasperation. “Hapi are you-” He’s cut off suddenly, but not by the breathy _‘what the hell’_ that leaves Felix at that exact moment, one hand lifted up like a blinder while his gaze flies over to the wall.

Byleth simply blinks. It’s not the first time she’s seen Hapi strip down. They have been in the bathhouse at the same time in the past, and the woman never was one who had a concept of chastity. Where would she have learned it? Unbothered as she is, Byleth at least doesn’t stare.

“I’m gonna enjoy the sauna with Chatterbox for a while.” And clearly, she didn’t need a towel to do it. “I’ve been freezing my ass off in Faerghus too long to pass this up.”

A hearty chuckle from Yuri is juxtaposed to Felix’s indignant huff. The former bids them a farewell with a casual salute before slinking back out the door. Felix is close behind, but stops just before leaving, eyes clearly fixed on Byleth (and clearly trying to avoid Hapi’s increasing nudity). He opens his mouth to speak, but clamps it shut. Shaking his head, he just gives one more statement before his tomato-red face disappears out the door: “Try not to pass out in here.”

The amused smile Byleth returns is too late to be caught, but it remains all the same as she turns towards Hapi in friendly conversation. She notices the woman has removed nearly everything save for the smallclothes on her hips, and the scarf around her neck, but Byleth doesn’t pry as to the reason. It doesn’t really matter, she’s just glad to see her again, to catch up on time lost, even if Byleth has nothing new to share…But after hearing the state of things in this world, and seeing none of the former Ashen Wolves upon her arrival, worry was a difficult parasite to shake.

By the time they’re done, the beginnings of wrinkles have begun to form on Byleth’s fingertips, the muscles in her cheeks beginning to ache from talking so much after so long…and from struggling to contain her laughter. The water bucket had run out, and most of the steam had been let out by the open door before the men had left. Rather than settle for dry heat, Hapi had volunteered to refill it.  
And it wasn’t until she was yards out the door that Byleth realized she intended to get it from the _lake._ Hapi hadn’t even bothered to put on _any_ more of her clothes on the way out. A string of curses left the red-haired woman about the cold as she made a dead sprint towards the lake with the bucket in hand. Byleth barely held onto her own towel as she attempted to chase after her with her jacket in one hand and dagger in the other…since Hapi didn’t seem to account for the layer of _ice_ over the lake water. It took her time to catch up with the way her body still ached, but she is able to close the distance by the dock. A few chaotic moments of Byleth haphazardly tossing her jacket over Hapi’s shoulders before picking away at the top layer of the pond’s frozen surface so her companion could dip the bucket in preceded the controlled run-walk the two attempted to match pace for as they each held onto the handle of the bucket to try and keep it from going crooked and splashing icy water on their freezing feet.  
Despite the late hour, they did not go unseen. Byleth didn’t have enough hands free to keep the towel from slipping, only pressing her arms against her sides keeps it from hitting the ground. Her jacket sits on Hapi’s shoulders with the modesty of a child-size cape on a grown-woman. Doubtful it did much more to warm her than it did to cover her. Mercedes’s bright chuckle was contagious as they sprinted past her, and there was no missing the way Seteth blanched and jolted, nearly dropped his papers just as they ducked back in through the doors. Byleth could have sworn she saw Hapi stick her tongue out at the man just before they disappeared through the door.  
Though her bones may ache and muscles protest at the sudden flare of exercise, she feels lighter. For those few minutes of daring frivolity, she’d entirely forgotten about all the stresses of the day that had weighted her shoulders.  
Even if it was only for a moment.  
  
Eventually, they finish their session of steam and slip back into their clothes. But before Byleth can step out the door, Hapi’s hand wraps around the inside of her elbow, gently holding her back. She turns to look, watching the woman pick up a moderately sized leather pouch that looks like it’s been to hell and back. “Hey, real quick. Thought you’d want this back.” Her tone is as casual as one might hand someone an item they’d just purchased at the market.

She blinks, but rather than question it she allows her friend to finish lacing her boots and just look for herself.  
Inside is a familiar leather-bound journal…along with another small cloth bag with a silver ring inside. Byleth chews on the inside of her lip. “I didn’t think I’d see these again…”

Hapi sits up, tightening the laces before slipping on her other boot. “Yeah, I uh…Well, me and some of the others kept looking for you after you disappeared. Only thing we ever found was bandits, though. So on one of the searches, I went through your room to see if there was anything that I might need to hang onto for you so it didn’t get stolen. These were the only things you locked up.”

For the duration of the woman’s explanation, Byleth just stares down at the journal, fingertips brushing over the damaged cover fondly. There’s a soft smile on her face, one that is truly grateful her friend had the foresight to do something like that. How to express that in words, however…that’s a difficult thing for the usually quiet mercenary.

“So…you burgled me?” The teasing glint in her green eyes is as playful as it is genuine, flitting back upward.

“Damn right I burgled you,” Hapi laughs. “And you better be damn grateful for it, Chatterbox.”

Her own smile twitches up a little more. “I am. Thank you.”

**~Felix~**

By now, it’s been days. Still, it feels surreal to see her walking about the grounds just as she had five years ago.

Well…almost. She’s still _limping_ around, as much as she tries to hide it. But it seems it’s getting _easier_ for her to hide it, so that should mean that she’s recovering. At least he hopes. It’s _painful_ to watch the woman he’d never been able to beat, the person he’d seen as nigh invincible, hobble around like a wounded animal when she thought no one was looking.

Perhaps he never should have put her on that sort of pedestal. Perhaps none of the others should have, either. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel like she had to hide it so much.

She isn’t in the dining hall when he enters, which isn’t common for her at this hour. But Felix notices too late, he already has food, and he’s already been flagged down by Sylvain. Begrudgingly, he complies, taking a seat next to the redhead. Across from Felix sits Mercedes, with Dorothea next to her.

“Hey, Fe~”

Already Felix regrets sitting here. He can _hear_ the up-to-no-good tone in Sylvain’s voice, and he’s not so sure he’s in any mood to tolerate the man’s bullshit. But he’s already here. He settles for glaring down at his plate and trying to ignore the man, the next best option besides rolling his eyes.

Sylvain, of course, is entirely undeterred. “Heard you were at the training grounds pretty late last night. You didn’t uh…see anything particularly… _interesting_ while you were there, did you?”

Dorothea simply shakes her head with an amused smile as she continues to eat, Mercedes is clearly trying to restrain a giggle and failing. “Oh Sylvain, the training grounds door was closed. I highly doubt he saw, don’t tease him!”

Felix looks up, irritated curiosity getting the better of him. “Saw _what_?” As soon as the words are out his mouth, he wishes he could take them back. He _knows_ Sylvain’s traps and pitfalls, he doesn’t _have_ to walk straight into them every damn time.  
And yet, he does anyway. Because Sylvain knows _exactly_ how to push Felix’s buttons without fail.

Sylvain, of course, practically beams when Felix takes the bait. He sits up a little straighter, chin lifts a little higher, grin gets a little more smug. “Oh, you know. Apparently, Hapi and the professor were running around the monastery in the middle of the night… _naked_.”

What a terribly ill-timed time to try and take a bite of his damn food, since Felix nearly _chokes_ on it. He manages to divert to just a clumsy cough, fist flying up to press against his mouth as he glares off to the side. _Damnit,_ Sylvain.  
Don’t offer more information than necessary. Don’t mention that he saw she was in a towel in the sauna. Don’t mention that he’d gone to bed before this supposed ‘escapade’ occurred. Don’t give him _any more_ fuel. “…Must have been after I left.” The words are muttered, partly muffled into his hand.

Dorothea chimes in, and if it was intended to help, it doesn’t. “You always are exaggerating, aren’t you? The professor had a towel…most of the time…and Hapi was in her panties. It wasn’t a big deal.” As casually as if discussing the weather, she goes right back to eating. Mouth somewhat full, she adds, “Besides, you weren’t even _there_.”

Dramatic as ever, the redhead sighs. “Ah, no, I was not. Just my luck to miss out on such an event. Maybe I’ll get lucky next t-” His words immediately dissolve into a slightly pained _off,_ as Dorothea kicked his shin under the table.

Another chuckle from Mercedes follows. “They did seem _very_ cold, I must say. But it looked rather invigorating. I do hope they invite me next time!”

Felix could go for the cold right now, with the way his face is burning. Sylvain's raucous laughter just makes it worse. “Are you done?”

Sylvain’s response is a hearty slap on Felix’s shoulder. “I’m never done, Fe. You know that.” The wink he sends him is as insufferably as his words. But the slight bit of pressure on his shoulder is clearly an indication that Sylvain is trying to coax Felix from simply getting up and walking away. The swordsman assumes he’s safe from further shenanigans…for now.

—

Only half his plate is eaten when suddenly the deep chime of the cathedral bell tower begins to sound. He pauses, ignoring the conversation Sylvain and Dorothea are adamantly engaged in. Why would the bells be going off?

“Well that’s strange,” Mercedes says to no one in particular. “There aren’t any services being held at the Cathedral…”

And she’s right. It was normal to hear the bells chime back in academy days. But those days are long gone. He can only think of one reason they’d be set off now.

“It’s a warning,” he says, putting down his fork and standing up from the bench. “Let’s go,” he urges the others a bit louder. Mercedes is right on his heels, the other two are not that far behind, even if they missed the reasoning.

They’re halfway to the front gates by the time one of the soldiers has reached the area, announcing that an approaching battalion had been spotted. Already most of the forces have gathered, Seteth and Gilbert at the head with a looming Dimitri just off to the side. The prince pays no heed to any allies nearby, simply stares off over the wall down at the Adrestian while practically foaming at the mouth as far as Felix can tell.

“It is no surprise that the Empire had the monastery under surveillance,” Seteth announces. “Not all the Knights of Seiros have returned yet from their search for Rhea yet, so we will need to make the best use of the numbers we have.” He pauses, looking up past Felix’s group that had just arrived. “Ah, professor. I hope you are well enough to fight. We will be needing your strength.”

Felix turns to see Byleth approaching just behind, her Abyssian comrades in tow. At first glance, her expression appears blank, but a closer look reveals the stony set of her eyes and tense pull of her brow. Her stance looks steady, but he can see she’s favoring one leg. Her sword remains at her back, not in her hand as it would normally be by now.

She’s pretending again. He scowls at the sight. But he doesn’t dare call her out on it, not when he knows _exactly_ why she’s pretending. Dimitri is still a monstrosity, it’s already a blow to the morale. To believe that Byleth is still weak from her… _sleep_ , would only make the situation appear even more grave.

He doesn’t envy her for the de-ja vu she likely feels either, seeing the Empire at their gates. For them, it was five years ago. For her? Not even five _days_.

Byleth nods. It’s enough to convince everyone…save for Felix and the two companions at Byleth’s side. Gilbert seems to make a motion for her to move forward, to the damn front lines. “Professor, perhaps it would be best if you were to lead our troops.”

Bunch of damned, ignorant fools they’re dealing with here. Arms crossed over his chest, Felix huffs, but speaks loudly and firmly enough that hopefully he’ll be taken seriously. “Let the _boar_ lead.” A few questioning glances are thrown his way. He grimaces. “That is his _job,_ isn’t it?” What else was he supposed to say? _Byleth is too weak to lead?_ Even if it was possibly true, the thought of saying those words out _loud_ was unthinkable.

Ingrid gives a concerned look towards the prince, before settling her wary gaze back on Felix. “I’m…not so sure that’s best.”

He scoffs at that. Why wouldn’t having a homicidal beast at the head of the army work in their favor for such a small confrontation?

Yuri steps forward then, his stance as smug as ever. But there’s a calculating turn of his mouth, a concentrated flicker of his eyes. “I believe Fraldarius has a point,” he states, clearly trying to put some sort of eloquent reason behind it. “The Empire already knows the Prince is here. He’s made sure of _that_.” A pointed look toward Dimitri, no doubt referring to the trail of imperial corpses scattered about the monastery when they arrived. “However, they know not that we have the professor on our side. The battalion at our gates is not a large one, no, but they do outnumber us. It would be best not to tip our hand too soon.”

Hapi steps forward after, continuing on to the front of the pack without so much as pretending to care if anyone had a problem with it. “I’ll go up front with him. Give ‘em a few more beasts to fight from the get-go.”

Seteth always looked like he disapproved of something, but at least he opened his mouth to express something different. “This plan will have to do, we’ve run out of time.”

Even if he hadn’t been volunteered to lead the front, Dimitri’s eagerness for bloodshed made it clear he would have stormed ahead regardless. Felix’s lip twitches upward at the thought. Instead, he strategically falls into line besides Byleth, towards the back.

“Can you even fight yet?”

Byleth’s expression doesn’t shift, but he notices her fingers flex at her sides. “I guess we’ll find out.” Her tone lowers slightly. “My reflexes and strength still aren’t at their best, but I should be able to hold my own if I’m not outnumbered.”

Felix frowns at that. Normally she could take on groups of armed men at a time. Her response does not bode well. Yuri just in front of them seems inclined to agree.

“Stick with us then, friend. Consider us your personal guard for this battle.”

A displeased exhale is her response. “If my guard sticks too close to me I won’t have room to swing my sword.”

“Well, last I checked, you can’t swing it that well anyway just yet, friend.” Neither of the other two appreciate his snide remark. He seemed irritatingly confident…but then again, he always did.

“I have a better idea,” Felix says, shrugging off the steel bow on his back and handing it to her before detaching the quiver of arrows from his belt. “You don’t swing any sword. You just stand back and snipe. We’ll pick off anyone who gets past your shot.”

He wasn’t looking at her directly, but he could swear he saw an upward shift of her mouth in his peripherals as she takes the bow in hand. She’s as deadly with a bow as she is a sword, he’d argue. So what if she doesn’t use the damn relic sword for this fight? It didn’t fucking _matter_ , so long as she came out alive.

Watching her die again is _not_ an option.

She nods at him before clipping the quiver at her side. “Yeah. I can manage that.”

It worked.

Though her speed and agility were currently limited, she was no less deadly with a bow than before. He’d wait until she fired before he’d dart ahead to knock down a few more enemies, clearing the way again so she could aim freely by the time she’d notched another arrow. Yuri watched the rear, making sure that no one tried to flank them. In the aftermath, corpses of human and beast alike scattered the grounds. And it was to their victory.

Thank _fuck_. Felix wasn’t prepared for a repeat of five years ago, even if it would have been on a smaller scale.

Felix surveys the battlefield, taking note that many of their ranks are milling about the area, scrounging resources off the fallen soldiers and slain monsters. To the front was the hulking figure of Dimitri with a few others beside him, a man in the enemy’s armor bound and knelt on the ground before him.

His hackles raise, gut telling him that this isn’t something he should ignore. So he doesn’t.

The closer he gets, the more he can hear Dimitri’s voice as well as the captive man. His suspicions are correct.

- _You heartless monster!-_

_-You are a monster too, general. You just have yet to realize it. A monster who thinks he's a man...despicable. As a general, you must have killed countless souls without a shred of mercy. Do you still remember the sound of them begging, just as you're begging now?_

Felix’s aggravated pace picks up to a brisk walk.

"This...this is war." The captive general's voice is breathy, raspy. "I did what I had to for the Empire...for the people...for my family!"

Felix stands by on the outskirts of the scene, watching Dimitri like a hawk. Ready to step in should things turn ugly.

No... _when_ things turn ugly. He can see that crazed look in the man's remaining eye, the way his lip twitches upward with vile malice. If left to his own devices, no doubt this man would end up in a similar, grotesque state as all the imperial corpses that he'd had to drag out of the stairwells after they arrived here.

"So, you are piling up corpses...for the people, and your family..." Dimitri growls, no hint of compassion left from his younger days. "...And I am doing the same for the salvation of the dead. After all is said and done we are both murderers. Both stained. Both _monsters_."

Felix flinches. He'd called Dimitri just short of such for years...but to hear the man admit it himself with something akin to prideful resignation...his stomach churns.

"Enough! That's enough!"

"I won't kill you right away, my fellow monster," the prince sneers. "Not unless you object to watching your friends die as we march on the empire. Watching me kill them...one _by_ _ **one**_."

That was too far. Felix steps forward, Annette has gone pale as she tries to interject. "Dimitri, you're scaring me. This isn't right."

Her voice goes unheard. "If so, then I will do you the service of removing your eyes first, so that-"

The boar's focus is entirely on the general, not even noticing Felix until the swordsman has stepped in between them. The way the prince's attention snaps to Felix is almost alarming, gaze sharpening as his words are immediately cut off. His stare is icy, as if daring Felix to say a word after brazenly interrupting.

Felix is not one to be intimidated.

"Let it go, _boar_."

Dimitri leans down, looking even more mountainous than Felix remembered with the heavy layer of matted furs along his broad shoulders. “ _Move aside,_ ” he growls, not elaborating on the implied threat.

“ _No,_ ” is Felix’s even harsher response, practically spitting the word. “Is it not enough for you to _enjoy_ slaughtering your enemies? Now you seek joy in _torturing_ them first?”

In a flash, Felix feels himself yanked forward. The prince’s fist has wrapped around the thick fabric of his shirt collar, face inches from his and cold as the mountain peaks in Faerghus. A few gasps from those nearby ring out, a less-than-effective protest of ‘Your Highness’ leaving the old red-haired knight who made no further effort to stop him.  
Though Felix doesn’t retaliate or flinch, it’s _alarming_ how easily the man is able to move his entire weight. Blaiddyd strength was not something one forgets, but for a man supposedly emaciated and sleep-deprived, he doesn’t appear to have lost _any_ of it. “If you do not get out of my way, then I will _throw_ you aside and-”

Both their attention is stolen immediately by the sound of a short, pained grunt accompanied by the squelch of a blade being thrust through a fresh body. They turn their gazes, Dimitri immediately releasing Felix once they see the source.

Byleth rips her dagger from the back of the general’s neck, and after a final gasping breath, the man crumples forward in a heap, blood pouring from the wound.  
Dead.

Felix is taken aback. He’s seen her kill innumerable times, yes. But he’s never seen her kill an unarmed captive. He realizes quickly that it was a mercy killing, and his gut turns at the revelation.  
She didn’t think there way any other way to keep him from carrying out those threats…but even worse…she believed Dimitri would actually _carry them out_.

For all Felix’s years of calling Dimitri out on his dark side, of acknowledging the vicious underbelly of the Prince’s pristine facade, of Byleth _believing_ him about it when no one else would…If she felt the only option was to kill the man herself before Dimitri got to him, it only stands to reason that she fears no one else would dare try to stop the man.  
After all, even when _Felix_ is threatened, there’s little more than obvious unrest from those observing. Perhaps if Sylvain and Ingrid weren’t so far off dealing with the wreckage.

Dimitri shoves Felix aside, stomping forwards towards Byleth. His breath catches in his throat, hand immediately flying to his sword to grab the hilt, prepared for the worst. But he hesitates…Byleth, for all her disadvantages at the moment, doesn’t budge. Her shoulders are squared, gaze intense as she stares up at the man who towers over her.

But also, Felix wonders…Could he truly bring himself to cut him down?  
Would Dimitri dare raise a hand against the professor he’d always strongly admired, perhaps to a fault?

“What is the meaning of this?” Though his voice is an intimidating growl, he makes no move to hurt her.  
It’s for that reason alone that Felix also makes no move. It has nothing to do with the gentle hand of restraint Gilbert _dared_ to place on his shoulder to hold him back. One that he’d immediately shrugged off with a violent throw of his hand.

“This isn’t you.” It’s all she says.

And all Dimitri returns is a derisive scoff. “ _Pah!_ The Dimitri you knew is _dead_.”

She says nothing. She doesn’t waver. She doesn’t even _blink_ , wide green eyes narrowed with a challenging intensity that Felix realizes he’s come to miss.

Dimitri steps forward. Felix steps forward in turn, hand twisting on the hilt of his blade. He can’t see the boar’s face from this angle, he has to make every judgment based on the man’s body language, tells that are heavily obscured by the tattered cloak.

“If you do not approve of what I have become, then _kill_ me.” Felix swears he sees the prince make a sideways glance his way as he says the word, before his harsh focus returns to the woman before him. “If not, then I will continue to use _you_ and your friends until the flesh falls from your bones.”

Felix glowers. Byleth swallows. A third figure steps forward seemingly from nowhere, practically forcing her way between the two at a standoff. It’s a familiar flare of red hair against dark skin, but with a bit more conviction than he’s ever seen from the nihilistic woman.

And by the goddess, did Dimitri step _back_?

Where Byleth stood her ground with stoic rigidity, Hapi actively seems to push back. And somehow, she gets away with it. Felix practically gawks at the scene, astounded that of all people, she was the one that seemed to have this sort of effect on him.

“Back the fuck up, _your highness_.” The title sounds wicked coming from her lips. “I didn’t save your ass for this bullshit, and Dedue sure as hell didn’t _die_ for it. This battle is over. We’re moving on.”

Silence. Stunned silence from everyone in the vicinity who heard. Even Byleth’s stony face gives way to surprise, not knowing the details that Felix had been privy to just a year prior. There’s nothing but tension in the air for a few long moments, Annette’s hands clasped over her mouth with wide eyes. But when it finally breaks, each pair of shoulders seems to dip with relief as Dimitri turns his back on the women, and simply stalks away.

As the swordsman finally allows himself to breathe again, the way Byleth’s fist clenches as her friend grabs her by the wrist with a firm steadiness does not go unnoticed.

Later, Felix trudges off on his own. The battle may be won, yes. But it was also a grim reminder of everything they’d lost already.

Fhirdiad.  
Most of Faerghus.  
Bits of flesh.  
Nights of Sleep.  
A stable leader.  
And a shitload of morale.

Up here, there’s no one to bother him. No one ever came up here back in the day, perhaps that will still ring true today. The Library had a purpose. The War room had a purpose. The Audience chamber had a purpose.

This room was a glorified lounge that had little more to offer than a few empty shelves, a soot-covered fireplace, and a seating area that was worse for wear. But it was empty, as he’d hoped. Unlike the practically overflowing infirmary that was filled with injured comrades being tended to by Mercedes and Flayn.

Felix sustained an injury to his forearm, but not a deep enough one to warrant pushing some of the others out of line. He’d seen some of them get carried off just before that altercation with Dimitri. A battle won is never a battle won _easy_ these days.

Glove laid across the back of the couch, he pushes the torn sleeve up his arm, frowning at the damage and dark staining to the white fabric. The roll of bandages he keeps on hand has seen better days, but it will do for now until he can get proper treatment in the morning. He’s begun wrapping it already, stretching the gauze up and biting down on the end to hold it in place as he adjusts the rest.

“Did you even wash that yet?”

Sharp amber eyes dart up to see Byleth in the doorway, face unreadable. He spits the cause from his mouth, allowing it to unravel as he drops his arm to his lap. “With _what_?” This place was long abandoned. Anything that hadn’t been raided by the thieves was long molded or expired.

“Well, _water,_ to start.” She’s good at hiding it, but he’s beginning to catch those slight twitches that ghost along the corners of her mouth.

“Your _pond water_ is going to do more harm than help,” he fires back. There was clean water available, yes. But it was limited. They’d need it for drinking. “I’m just stopping the bleeding until the healers have had a chance to rest.” He isn’t stupid enough to let a wound go untreated and fester.

The answer seems to appease her, at least convinced that he isn’t trying to be stubborn. Perhaps in his younger days, he might have, but those days were long gone.

Felix’s eyes lift back to her as she approaches and takes a seat next to him, recalling something else that was lost, but only to her.

Five years.

She extends her hand to him, an expectant tinge in her voice. “Let me see.”

He hesitates, but relents and places his wounded arm in her palm.

Her fingers curl around the muscle, and he finds himself noticing details he hadn’t before. How despite how slender her fingers were, they were impressively strong. Her nails were short, uneven in places. Her skin was calloused, palm and fingers alike. The pale mark of scar-tissue scattered about, while hard to see, is unmistakable. Small though they may be, they were every bit the hands of a warrior.

He likes the way they feel on his skin.

With her free hand, Byleth pushes back the fabric of his sleeve that had begun to slide down, before bringing her palm to hover over the tear in his flesh. A soft light emanates from her hand, encompassing his arm as the tissue weaves back together. Within a few moments, all that remains is the fresh memory of the pain.

“That’s about the best I can do,” she says with a shrug, releasing his arm. “But at least you weren’t hurt worse.”

He pulls his hand back, rubbing the other around the newly healed skin. He gives a nod of thanks, but finds himself distracted. As if he can still feel her grip on him. “Thought you weren’t trained in magic…” It’s all he can think to say.

She takes no offense. “My _father_ wasn’t trained in magic. But I make it my business to try to learn whatever I can…Never know when you’ll need it.”

Suddenly, he feels like it’s five years ago and they’re having that talk in the classroom again. When he’d argued with her about learning Reason magic when she chose to use a bow. He’d assumed she didn’t use magic at all herself, only learned enough to teach. But he’d been willing to follow her advice, anyway. He trusted her judgment. He always had. So he studied it, he practiced it, he was determined to master it. Because then maybe if he could surpass her in another skill, perhaps he could surpass her in the sword.

After she disappeared, he hadn’t been able to stomach reaching for magic again. Whatever potential he might unlock on that path he’d left buried in the cage of his chest to rot.

And then he’d picked up the _bow_ instead, as if following in her footsteps instead of her guidance was any better a way to get over her fall.

There are a few moments of quiet, not quite comfortable, but not quite awkward either. Eventually, he breaks it. “You still think I need to learn Reason magic?”

“I wouldn’t say need. You seem to do well enough as you are.”

He can tell by her tone she hasn’t finished that statement. He lifts a brow expectantly.

And she lifts her lips into the subtle, snide smile. “But I still think you _should_.”

“Tch.” He almost rolls his eyes. “What’s the difference?”

“You only _need_ to be as good as you are to survive. Doing what you _need_ to do is to be the version of yourself that can carry you through the toughest situations.” Her tone almost seems to turn reminiscent, as if this is something she’s been taught before. “You _should_ look to be better. To be the best version of yourself you can be. So that when you find yourself in the toughest of situations…you aren’t just surviving them.” When she looks back at him, he finds he’s unable to look away. “You’re blazing an entirely new path through them.”

And of course, she’s right. Felix has never sought to remain stagnant, even if his words suggested it. Byleth no doubt knows that if the glint in her eye is any indication. But strength isn’t about being the best at one skill. There will always be someone better than you at any one thing. He’s learned that the hard way.

It’s about mastering as many skills as you can so that you can master any situation. Felix Fraldarius is no mage, and he never will be. No matter what sort of pep talk she might give him.

But that doesn’t stop him from pulling a dusty tome out of the archives that night to study anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hapi breasted boobily down to the lake and Byleth titted downwards.
> 
> (PS: Dedue isn't actually dead. I wouldn't do him dirty like that I promise.)
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Thanks for your patience everyone! Sorry this took so long, I've been battling sciatica and holiday stuff and zines/AU Bang etc plus I had to end up splitting this chapter into 2 parts so it took longer than normal. Also I'm working on an additional Modern AU Felileth Fic (Last Firstborn) so be sure to check that out too!  
> As always, feedback is always appreciated and is my biggest motivator!


	9. Arc II: Awaken - 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aillel is hot as balls man.   
> Also, this is the last chapter that follows the 'canon' timeline. Hold onto your butts.

**~Byleth~**

A few more weeks pass, and finally the phantom pains and lingering stiffness that had plagued Byleth since her return have faded to little more than a dull ache that she can bury deep and ignore without even thinking about it. It wasn’t entirely unlike having a mild hangover, but without the grogginess. She’s been through that a million times.

Byleth attempts to explain this to Felix, but he seems reluctant to take her at her word. He’s seen her put on a brave face one too many times, and with the march to Aillel just a few night hours away, he’s intent on making her prove she’s ready for it.

As if that would have any bearing on her coming along if she _wasn_ _’t_.

Wood cracks against wood as they spar, Byleth easily parrying one of Felix’s more aggressive maneuvers, even if it’s one she hasn’t seen him use before. It’s all too easy to fall back into the rhythm of this. The familiar scents of metal and sweat seemed to permanently cling to the training grounds, as if it were a part of the very dust their boots kick up with each shuffle of footwork. The sun has almost fully set now, the sky little more than a speckled plaque of indigo with a hint of violet ombre just above the towering walls around them.

Torchlight casts deceptive shadows along the pillars and barely illuminates the sparring area. The waxing moon reveals more than the meager fire. Each swing of sword and turn of stance allows Byleth to see just how much his fighting style has changed over the years. He’s faster, stronger, and surprisingly, a little more ruthless. Though he still carries himself with an air of pride, the knightly tendencies his form used to hold (however subconscious that may have been) clearly don’t shine through like they used to.

_…He fights more like he’s been stuck battling in a vicious war for years._

But still, there’s a fatal flaw in his fighting style, and she can pick up on it quickly. Because he falters when she maneuvers differently than he’s used to. Because where he expects her to lunge forward or take a sweeping blow, she instead jumps back and to the side before spinning on her heel to make a low hit. Because while at one time she was his professor, before that, she was a mercenary. An assassin.

He’s still fighting her like she’s his teacher. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t expect her foot to wrap around his ankle and yank it out from under him as she sidesteps his lunge. Felix topples into the dirt, and she lazily points her sword in his direction. She knows it isn’t enough to make him yield, but after being so weakened for so long…she wants to be a little smug.

Felix quickly turns so his back isn’t facing her, but his eyes latch onto the point of her sword, glaring intently. Byleth just gives an amused smile. “You look mad. I thought you wanted me to beat you.” After all, this was about making sure she could handle herself if things went south meeting up with Rodrigue. Purely that and not some deeper need for the both of them to get back to sparring like they used to, to find the thrill in that challenge they only found with each other.

Jumping back to his feet, he swats her blade aside with his own. “Not used to you fighting dirty.”

“You’ve never fought me at night.” In the shadows, she picks up new strategies, ones that only tend to work when your enemy can’t get a clear look at you or your movements. Depth perception isn’t quite the same in the dark. But also, she knows that Felix has been training and battling for the last five years, while she’s been ‘asleep’. If Byleth hopes to secure a victory, she needs to up the ante.

A scoff is the only sound he makes to respond. His real reply is dashing forward yet again, a decisive thrust meant entirely to push her back. It works, Byleth is forced to backpedal to keep him at bay before they can continue their dance. Despite the cold air, sweat trickles down her skin beneath her jacket, her muscles burn from exertion. This is the most she’s moved in weeks. It’s also the most _alive_ she’s felt in that time, finally able to tap into her full strength against an opponent who would settle for nothing less.

Eventually their back and forth drives them towards the edge of the ring…Not that something as trivial as a line in the dirt was ever enough to determine the winner when it came to her and Felix’s spars. There was no winner until one yielded, no matter how it played out.

So when Byleth finds herself nearly pushed back near one of the pillars, she uses it to her advantage. She lunges backward under the cover of darkness where she’s little more than a shifting shade among the shadows, and darts out of his range before he can get a good view of where she’s going. Felix follows her. He’s determined to catch up to her before she slips away in that darkness.

But she wasn’t there.

And by the time Felix hears the slightest scuff of her boot behind him, it’s too late. He turns on his heel, but she’s already on him. She hadn’t pulled back, she’d rounded the pillar entirely and flanked him. Felix falls back into the arena, landing in the soft dirt on his back, his training sword only remaining in his hands because of his own stubborn will not to let her disarm him.

Not that it does him any good when the wind has been knocked out of him. He’s dazed, but only for a few quick seconds. More than enough time for Byleth to pin him down, wooden blade against his throat and knees in the dirt on either side of his torso. She leans forward to meet his gaze just as he opens his ochre eyes…and glares.

“Yield.”

He doesn’t. His weapon swings up again to try and push her back but she blocks it with the bracer on her wrist. She leans forward even further to push the sword back and slam it back into the dirt, pinning the weapon down with her forearm just above the right side of his head.

Felix’s face goes red in an instant, the stubborn scowl on his face wiped away simultaneously. His eyes go wide and he just stares up at her in a way she can’t quite put her finger on. “ _Yield,_ _”_ she repeats, ignoring the very compromising position she’s currently in.

…That certainly doesn’t mean she isn’t _aware_ of it, however. One wrong move would put her ass in his lap or his jaw in her cleavage. Perhaps that’s why he’s suddenly gone rigid. Her lips press into a hard line, trying to conceal her amusement at that. Silly man. If those were the reasons he seemed to surrender, she’d almost be disappointed. When did Felix Fraldarius let something like propriety stand between himself and a win? It wasn’t as if the contact would offend her.

A softer voice in the back of her head suggests she probably wouldn’t mind it at all. That voice is one she doesn’t tend to listen to all too often.

“Fine. I yield.” He says abruptly, hand releasing his sword and open palms displayed upward in forfeit. It’s only then that Byleth removes her own weapon from his neck and leans back, nearly sitting on his stomach. The redness in his cheeks doesn’t fade.

She’s about to comment on his tactics. About how he seemed to try and account for her usual fighting style he remembered from years ago rather than watching for her actual movements. But before she can open her mouth, another voice rings out from near the entrance to the training grounds. A voice with that all too familiar lilt to it that could only belong to one very specific Lord of the Underground.

“My my, you two. Do you have any idea what time it is? At this hour the only people who are still awake are the ones who are up to no good.”

Byleth turns to look, but doesn’t hold nearly the same defensive urgency as her companion who quickly sits up and promptly scoots back in the dirt, pulling his hips and legs out from under Byleth in an impressively fluid motion.

“So, people like you?” she teases Yuri back. It earns her the usual approving smile. Felix, however, is less amused.

“We aren’t up to _anything_ ,” he snaps, glaring off to the side and doing all he can to avoid eye contact with either of them. “Just sword training. _That_ _’s all_.” And while intending to seem adamant, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince all three of them of that, not just Yuri.

The leader of the Ashen Wolves simply shrugs where he leans against one of the pillars, having been there for who knows how long. “Well, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that we have a long march ahead of us in the morning.” He seems to pay more attention to the well-kept nails on his fingers at that point, a slight smirk on his face. “I suggest you sheathe that sword and head to bed or it’s going to be a very short night~”

Byleth doesn’t miss the double entendre, it’s clear in his eyes that it was intentional. But the mild warning in her responding frown is no threat to him. With a casual wave, Yuri simply turns back towards the door they hadn’t heard him enter through. “You’ll thank me in the morning, friend.”

Shaking her head, she simply stands up and looks to Felix. He’s not where he was a moment ago, however. Instead, he’s already returned his weapon to its rack and is heading towards the exit. Her head tilts to the side rather curiously, unsure what to make of his sudden wordless departure. Had Yuri’s teasing been too much?

Or had _she_ done something wrong?

Before she can dwell on it long, he glances back over his shoulder at her. He appears to be in a rush, but doesn’t seem angry. Even if his words are needlessly blunt. “He’s right. You should get some sleep.” Without even pausing to speak, he hurriedly walks out.

The tip of her weapon taps idly against the ground as she mulls over her predicament. Yes, she should get some sleep. Trying to do the march without proper rest would be taxing and hellish. She had just recovered, she couldn’t afford to be reckless.

But she also wasn’t sure how to explain this new fear of sleeping to them, either. How it had brought her incessant insomnia because even while asleep, her subconscious worried that she wouldn’t wake up again. Perhaps it's irrational, the sleep before had been so she could recover from a “fatal” fall down a ravine…or so she was led to believe.

That’s the thing about fears, though, isn’t it? They don’t follow the rules of rationality.

She returns the sword to its resting place before retiring to her own…but she fully expects to wake up with the same bags under her eyes she’s had for the last week.

…A damn shame that the five years' worth of rest she had didn’t count toward the future.

_The Valley of Torment is like walking through the fires of hell._ That’s how Aillel had been described to her days ago during the strategy meeting. It was not something Byleth paid much attention to, expecting the statement to be hyperbolic. She had more pressing things to focus on at the time…

Things like Gilbert diverting all strategic planning to the clearly unraveled Dimitri, whose plan for this military regimen was to use them to storm Enbarr on a suicide mission for revenge. To make things even worse, it seemed most people _agreed_ with that decision.

Albeit for entirely different reasons. In hopes to save Rhea, or to end the war faster. The only people who seemed to disagree were Annette and Ingrid, arguing that Dimitri should look to save the people of Fhirdiad first and foremost.

Byleth just knew that to head to Enbarr this soon would end in grave failure.

And the usually vocal Felix was eerily silent, not a single word snarled or shouted in rebellion at the decision. Just rigid posture, folded arms, and an icy glare off to the side at nothing in particular.

She wonders what storm of fury and anxieties rage on in his mind.

Seteth at least had the presence of mind to defer the decision to her. To state that they would follow her guidance on the matter.

Her mouth hadn’t even opened when Dimitri _vehemently_ shot down the possibility of even entertaining an alternative. Byleth had no foot in that race. Dimitri would not go to Fhirdiad, and to go without him would be useless. She cannot simply refuse and offer no alternative. No one would accept that.

Time. She needs time. Time to think of a better option. And the march to Aillel gives her just that. Time to walk in relative silence as she rubs her hands along her arms to somehow will heat back into the skin beneath her coat. At the front of the caravan, the only ones near her are Hapi and Dimitri, most others leaving a respectful distance between themselves and the delusional prince. Yuri brought up the rear to ensure they were not followed. Felix was likely just as far back…as far away as he could get from Dimitri, she assumes.

When her mind has become too muddled with no viable tactics for too long, Byleth finds the stagnant silence of crunching dirt and creaking wheels to be maddening.

Hapi must be able to tell. Or is trying to distract herself from the chill in her own bones. A puff of moisture clouds in the air before her lips as she speaks.

“You know what, I don’t care if the place is made of lava. I’ll take that over this damn winter air any day.”

A half-smile briefly graces Byleth’s lips. “At least you’re wearing your clothes this time.”

That draws a rare chuckle from the redhead. “Yeah, well if Aillel is as bad as they’re saying, that might change. I’d rather be naked and hot than bundled up and still freezing my ass off.”

Byleth returns an amused huff, a single laugh all she can really muster. If she intended to reply, the words are ripped right from her throat as Hapi speaks again, this time addressing the brooding mountain of a man just a few meters ahead of them. The woman’s tone is so casual, Byleth’s eyes widen in apprehensive surprise.

“Hey, Didi. Think you can spare any of the two tons of fur on your shoulders?” It’s difficult to tell if she’s serious or making a jab. Knowing Hapi, possibly both.

He turns his head slightly, peering over his shoulder at her with a narrowed gaze. “… _What_?”

With that kind of venom in his voice, Byleth would have dropped the subject. To set him off would cause more delays, potentially draw attention, and the prince seemed to be ready to snap at any given moment.

Hapi, however, seems to have no concerns or reservations about it. “Faerghus is fucking cold. I don’t have a lot of clothes to layer up.” Spoken with the same fire she’d have spoken to anyone else.

Dimitri doesn’t boil over, however. He doesn’t even seem to simmer. He simply remains as frigid as the air around him as he looks away. Though at first, he seemed to ignore her, the ruffle of fabric precedes him removing the cloak entirely. He stops for only a moment, half turning to face them both with a sharp, downcast eye and lifted chin, examining them the way a hawk might survey a potential predator.

No, just Hapi, she realizes. Dimitri ignores Byleth’s existence altogether. Half wadding the massive cloak into a ball, he unceremoniously tosses it into Hapi’s arms.

“Return it.” With a grunt, he turns ahead again.

Byleth blinks, turning back to her companion. Hapi just mutters _“cool”_ before she throws the heavy furs around her shoulders. The tattered blue cloth drags along the ground behind her. By the time she’s huddled into the soft fluff…she looks absolutely ridiculous. It’s _far_ too large for her in every way.

“You look like you were buried in an avalanche from the nose down,” she teases.

Hapi’s eyes move, but if there’s any other reaction, it’s completely obscured. A muffled voice responds with a snarky, “I’ll bury _you_ in an avalanche.”

She can’t help the small laugh that follows.

Whatever mild jealousy Byleth might have felt at not having that extra warmth was gone entirely by the time they reached Aillel. The blood of her opponents feels like it’s boiling as it splashes across her face. The smoke on the lava burns her eyes and the steam in the air nearly scalds her skin.

_Everything_ here feels like it’s on fire.

But it couldn’t have been as simple as meeting up with Rodrigue, could it? Somehow, the empire had found out. House Rowe had ambushed them to intercept. And while Byleth technically had two small armies now, there was a large, Empire-backed army moving in between them. They had to move fast to close the gap or they wouldn’t stand a chance.

She had intended to go for their leader, but Yuri’s hand on her shoulder had stopped her, insisting _he_ be the one to do that.  
 _“Just need to settle an old score,”_ was all he’d said when she asked. But there was an adamant determination in his eyes, harsh and venomous as he’d stared down Count Rowe.  
Byleth didn’t question him further. It was at that moment she remembered one of the few pieces of Yuri’s past she _did_ know. She will not rob him of that satisfaction…and he’s likely better suited to the task. Intimate knowledge of your opponent is a better advantage than any amount of military tactics.

Instead, she darts ahead, thankful that the blood finally flows through her fingers the way she needs it to now, that her body responds the way it _should_ in battle. After being forced to hold back for so long, she doesn’t even consider doing so now. Yes, they’re fighting against soldiers and knights from Faerghus who have been training for battle since they could walk, but the terrain leaves them at disadvantage. They are slow and sluggish, no doubt melting beneath their metal armor like it’s a Brazen Bull. Finding the weak points in the joints of their plating is an easy task, one her steel sword makes quick work of as she moves.

The archers, however, are beginning to pose a problem. They have the high ground. Literally. And gloves that don’t allow the slick of their sweat to coat their fingers and let the arrows fall from their grip. This close to the heat, her vision is wavy and distorted, making it hard to spot figures in the distance.

She doesn’t even realize it until an arrow rips through the fabric of her skirt cape, skimming across the back of her thigh and ripping through lace and skin. Byleth flinches, but it’s hardly more than a cut, nothing debilitating. The arrow that flies right past her shoulder, however, is far more alarming. A turn of her head to the source reveals little more than a few distorted figures she can’t make out. But she also can’t focus on them as she’s fighting against the warrior in front of her.

A powerful few swings of her blade begin to do in her opponent, but the distant sound of rushing air and snapping bowstrings alarms her. Praying is not an action she’s ever put much stock in, but she does call on lady luck to let those arrows miss. The sound of her enemy hitting the ground is nearly muted by the sound of iron deflecting off steel.

Byleth whips around to look over her shoulder, but the sheen of white armor shocks her. A mounted bow knight with indigo hair darts past it, heading straight for the archers to take them out before they can fire again. Arrows litter the ground at the figure’s feet from where they’d bounced harmlessly off the shield, and above she sees the bright familiar smile of a family friend grinning back at her.

“Byleth!” Alois proclaims, clearly overjoyed to see her. But even still, she can detect that hint of melancholy that tugs at the corners of his eyes, as his voice softens. “It’s good to see you again.”

—

By the end of the fight, they’re all tired, a little bruised, but losses were minimal. Injuries were nothing Mercedes couldn’t handle. Once Count Rowe had fallen by Yuri’s hand, the battle had ended soon after. With what little healing magic she knows, Byleth is able to tend to her own injuries after the fact. Alois, however, has not left her side since he and Shamir first darted in.

“—We searched for you for so long, I feared the worst. I never gave up hope, though. After all, I had a promise I made to Jeralt to protect you.” The older knight explains, his usual jovial demeanor some unsightly mix of relief and shame. “The further the Empire pushed in, though, the harder it was to search the grounds around the Monastery. Eventually…we had to abandon it. So, I decided that in the meantime, I thought the best course of action was to help your students push back.”

Byleth smiles at him, standing up straight now that her leg is no longer bleeding. She’s glad to see him, honestly. Family isn’t something that Byleth knows well, nor something she’s felt she had since her father died. But Alois, in his own strange way, has always felt close to it. Like an uncle…or brother. Uncle Brother. “So you’ve been in Fraldarius territory?” That was where they’d been holding the line, she’d been told.

“Mostly,” he nods. “But damn! Even the summers here give you a chill. Why, I had to move my bed into the corner of my room. At least there it’s _ninety degrees!_ ”

A hearty laugh follows, and honestly, Byleth is amused by it. A gentle _huhu~_ is well earned, one hand lifting up to her lips as if to hide it. Honestly, it’s one of his better jokes.   
In her peripherals, she sees sudden movement. Felix’s face has suddenly turned around to look at her from where he stands with Sylvain and Ingrid just a few meters away. She doesn’t have a chance to make out his face. The moment her eyes darted to him, he abruptly turned away again.

Alois’s laughter dies down, and he’s beaming once again. Whether from getting everything off his chest or the fact the ever-stoic mercenary actually laughed at his joke, it doesn’t matter. It’s unsettling to see him so somber.

“Anyway, once I caught wind that Duke Fraldarius was sending battalions to Aillel for a secret mission, I just _knew_ I had to volunteer. And by the Goddess, my instincts were right!”

“It’s good to see you too, Alois.” Truly, it is. But any further catching up will have to wait, she realizes, as she hears the _clip-clop_ of horseshoes on the volcanic rock.

Duke Fraldarius himself trots into view, dismounting his steed just a few paces away before inserting himself into their circle. Their gazes shift to him, noting the look of utter relief etched into the lines of his face. “Professor. I received word you were back, but I could scarcely believe it.” The warm smile he gives is genuine, the sort that gave him that aura of honor and nobility so revered in Faerghus. “I’m grateful for it. Were it not for your assistance, I fear to think what the outcome of this battle could have been. I do not know how House Rowe discovered our plan, but we should be sure to tread carefully.”

Byleth simply nods, ignoring how blatantly he throws their victory on her shoulders. Capable she may be, but she’s still only human.

At least, she hopes so…despite the information she’s gleaned that suggests she isn’t.

“A well-earned victory for the lot of us!” Alois chimes in, ever positive in his demeanor. But it calms her, the words enough to somehow level out that field again. “We’ll be sure to keep our eyes peeled for anyone suspicious. We won’t be caught so easily again.”

Rodrigue nods in agreement before turning back to her. “Ah, but before we head back to the monastery, I have a gift for you.” Byleth blinks, but Rodrigue simply pulls a sword from a sheath in one of his saddlebags. It’s an interesting weapon. A wide, nearly squared-off blade that almost seems to shimmer a subtle light all its own. Unreadable script and a crest she doesn’t recognize, one that resembles a sun, are etched into the surface. The duke extends the sword out to her, held flat over his two outstretched palms. “The Sword of Moralta has been in our territory for generations, but I feel it would serve most effective in your hands.”

Byleth says nothing, blinking once again in confusion. She blatantly looks down at the blade already in her hand: The Sword of the Creator, long enough to make a point, before looking back up to the older man questioningly. What is she going to do with this sword when she already wields what is claimed to be the most powerful one in existence?

It’s a waste. And he seems to understand what she’s trying to get across without words, a breathy chuckle and amused smile crossing his features. “Even if those hands only choose where it would be best put to use.”

Sure. She could do that. But why isn’t _he_ doing it? She recalls all too clearly that battle years ago, which had only been months for her. Where this same man had handed her the Fraldarius family relic to give to Felix when _she_ deemed he was ready for it. This time, it doesn’t even sound like he intends Felix to be the recipient at all. It feels surreal, _unreal_ even. As if she’ll blink and find that he isn’t holding a sword out to her at all.

“Doesn’t this belong to your son?” She blurts out, quirking a brow.

Rodrigue closes his eyes in contemplation, somber but not down-trodden. “Ah, it did, at one time. However brief. But it is better served in the hands of any capable knight in such times, rather than growing dull in the armory.”

Byleth’s confused expression doesn’t fade as he holds to sword out even further, prompting her to accept the weapon with her free hand. As she lifts it, she quickly pieces together what he’s saying, green eyes locking with his. Though still calm, there’s a stern tinge in her voice.

“Your _other_ son,” she clarifies, internally aghast she even had to. Sure, Felix is not a knight. Not in class or demeanor, he certainly doesn’t _refer_ to himself as one. But he was more than capable, perhaps _more_ capable than some of the knights she knew. Byleth won’t pretend to understand the depth of the rift between Felix and his father, she knows that Felix keeps the man at arm’s length. But still, she can’t understand Rodrigue’s reasoning for making absolutely _no_ attempts to bridge that gap. Like he’s just…given up on him entirely.

It pisses her off. Not an easy feat for someone as emotionally stunted as the Ashen Demon.

Now Rodrigue is the one to look taken aback, as he realizes what she’s getting at. But before he can even begin to protest, Byleth turns on her heel and speaks to Alois instead. “Let’s head back. We don’t have time to waste.” He’ll know that means to gather the rest and direct the forces back to Garreg Mach. If Rodrigue had a response or excuse, she’s not entirely sure she’d want to hear it. Not at the moment.

As she walks away with both swords in hand, leaving the other two men behind to herd the battalions, she approaches the small congregation of Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain. Sylvain gives a hearty greeting, Ingrid asks about her condition, Felix just looks at her quizzically. Byleth doesn’t respond to any of it. Instead, she extends the Sword of Moralta out to Felix, blade pointed to the ground and handle almost shoved against his chest in a way that causes him to scramble catch it in his own grasp. The moment he seems to have a hold on it, she lets go, and has barely even stopped walking, leaving the three of them in shock as she mutters one thing to him before continuing to storm off back toward their return destination.

“Happy Birthday…”

**~Felix~**

By the time they return to Garreg Mach, Byleth’s sour mood seems to have faded. But Felix’s hasn’t. He’s still wracked with frustration. Bitterness that once again, his father couldn’t be bothered to relinquish a family artifact to _him_ directly. Irritation at what the hell his father had _said_ to Byleth to make her so visibly agitated.

Anger at the fact that, upon their return, the consensus is _still_ to follow the Boar’s orders and storm Enbarr on a suicide mission.

He glares at the sword of Moralta that leans against the wall of his chamber. Another relic of the family meant for his brother to inherit, given to him by Byleth rather than by his own father. The Aegis shield lays beneath his bed, like it had at the end of their academy days. He doesn’t know what to make of it. Has his father given up on him as an heir? Is Byleth trying to tell him to fight for it? Is she just doing the old man favors? Every option seems possible and impossible all at the same time. But it certainly wasn’t meant to be a _birthday present_ , not with the way she’d said it or where it had come from.

Besides…Byleth didn’t give anyone birthday presents. Unless you counted flowers. She always gave everyone flowers on their birthdays or invited them to tea.

His birthday hadn’t even been two full weeks ago. Despite the war and her five-year absence, she still remembered. Still invited him to a cup of almyran pine needle tea since she wasn’t well enough to spar. Still left a small bundle of strange-looking purple flowers on his doorstep. He’d noticed because usually she didn’t do both.

Not that he kept track…or so he tells himself.

Sylvain had seen them, chosen to comment on it in the mess hall that day. Ashe had been there as well, the two waiting on Yuri and Dorothea to return from some business or other. Felix had known he was in for it the moment he sat down and saw Sylvain’s face.

—

_“So, tea AND flowers…aren’t you special, Fe?”_

_Felix simply grunted at that._ _“Shut up.” It was probably just to make up for lost time. No doubt the others would receive the same treatment. “It’s just leaf water and weeds. Stop making something out of it that it’s not.”_

_Of course, such denial only fueled Sylvain_ _’s fire for such topics. “She got you different flowers than me. That’s gotta mean something.”_

_Ashe appears confused about the context, but his helpful nature wouldn_ _’t allow him to stay silent. “She gives everyone different flowers, you know.”_

_The both of them look to him: Felix skeptical, Sylvain curious. The mixed responses give him pause, but he goes on._ _“Dedue an-“ he seems to stumble over the name, recalling their late companion. “Dedue and I spent a lot of time in the greenhouse with her. She was a natural at it, but didn’t really know a lot about the flowers beyond what was poisonous to eat and what wasn’t. So we would tell her about the different meanings. I think she picked birthday flowers around that.”_

_“Huh! No kidding?” Sylvain seemed more interested in that than he probably should. Felix knows nothing good will come of it. But for now, the red-head’s focus is on Ashe as he rests his chin in one hand. “What kind did she get you?”_

_He seems a bit surprised by that._ _“Oh, uh…magnolias!”_

_Sylvain_ _’s eyes sharpen. “Really now? And what do those stand for?”_

_Ashe_ _’s face seems to redden at that, somehow not seeing where this conversation was going. Felix grimaces and glances off to the side to avoid rolling his eyes as Ashe explains that magnolias were a symbol of noble spirit and perseverance._

_He hates to admit that it is fitting for him._

_“Wow, seriously? She definitely put thought into that, then.” Sylvain continues on and Felix is about to drown him out, but of course it comes back around to him. “So, Felix. What kind of flower did she give_ _**you** _ _?_ _”_

_Felix turns to glare at him, but says nothing at first. He_ _’s not sure he wants to say, because he isn’t sure he wants to know what it allegedly ‘means’. He isn’t sure what he_ _**wants** _ _it to mean. But the smug look on his obnoxious friend_ _’s face is enough to tell him that if he doesn’t say it, Sylvain will._

_Flowers aren_ _’t really something he knows well, though. He’s seen them around, he knows they exist. But he couldn’t name them if he wanted to. In fact, the very bundle she’d left on his doorstep looked entirely foreign to him. He’s not sure if he’s ever seen it. The smell, however. The smell he did recognize. A scent from his childhood when he’d struggled to sleep after the loss of his mother. An oil Glenn would wash their pillowcases with every week until he, too, was gone. A scent that he will never forget because it haunts him as much as it comforts him._

_“Lavender.”_

_“Oh!” Ashe seems rather excited about the prospect. “That makes perfect sense, actually, seeing how close you are with the professor.”_

_‘Byleth’, he wants to say. But doesn’t. She’ll forever just be ‘The Professor’ to everyone, it seems. It grates on him, perhaps for selfish reasons. A future filled with being addressed as ‘Duke’ by everyone he knows, never to hear his own name again until he forgets it entirely and his sense of self along with it._

_“Why?” he asks instead._

_There_ _’s a beaming grin on Ashe’s face that makes Felix wish he’d never sat down at this damn table at all, but it’s too late now. “Lavender is a symbol of loyalty, love, and devotion.” Upon seeing the way the blood drains from Felix’s face before it flushes bright red, he holds up his hands defensively, a sheepish smile coloring his next words with nerves. “Though, it can be either romantic or platonic! It’s not really an exact science or anything.”_

_That doesn_ _’t help in the slightest. Somehow the thought that it could be just a platonic gesture is even more disappointing than the embarrassment that comes with the other option…even if Felix doesn’t fully understand_ _**why** _ _. Immediately he pushes all off that out of mind._

_Sylvain, deciding to finally break some of this tension that he_ _’d intentionally stirred up, gives a hearty chuckle as he nudges Felix in the arm. “Or maybe she’s just telling you that you need to relax a little.” A wink follows, as if he is the one actually telling Felix to relax._

_A huff of air leaves the swordsman, and on that breathe is the smallest trace of amusement. Enough for Sylvain to detect and settle the air between them, a lifelong expert at knowing how to aggravate Felix without pushing him over the edge_ _…usually. But still, despite it all, he isn’t ready to go diving for deeper meaning in a traditional gesture. He isn’t going to read into something just to find out it isn’t there. Hints and symbols don’t convey what words and actions do. He will continue to rely on the latter as he always has._

_But right now, he wants to shift the focus away from himself._ _“So, what about you, Sylvain?”_

_“Me?” the redhead questions, poking at his own chest with his index finger. “Well, it was back in the academy days, but I specifically remember they were carnations.” A smug grin on his face, he holds up a palm as if to quiet a rambunctious crowd. “I know, I know. The professor couldn’t resist my charms even then, and had to give me birthday flowers that encompassed love and beauty.”_

_Felix scoffs, but Ashe holds up a tentative finger much like he would in strategy meetings._ _“Sylvain, what color were they, specifically?”_

_“Yellow,” he replies as he flutters his lashes. “Like my eyes.”_

_The silver-haired man chews on his lip for a moment, as if trying to stifle a laugh. And he manages, but it_ _’s clear that there’s still a deep amusement in his tone. “Yellow carnations are a symbol of rejection, Sylvain.”_

_Now it was Felix_ _’s turn to laugh._

—

A grunt of frustration. It doesn’t matter. Whatever reprieve he’d had that day was long over. Now It’s late, but he’s not getting any sleep like this. Not with death and disappointment staring him in the face. His gaze briefly lifts to the small vase on his bedside table. The lavender blossoms have begun to wilt, the stems sagging from being cut so long ago. Even refilling the water every evening wasn’t enough to keep it alive for long. The scent had dwindled days ago, and his sleep along with it. Now they just smell like decay.

He throws on his sweater and his short boots as he descends the stairs of the old dormitory and heads outside. The wind is biting when he leaves, the warmth of the sun long gone with the moon high in the sky. The sort of gusts that pass right through the threads of your clothes and rip strands of hair free from their bindings and blow dirt in your eyes. Weather that is not at all ideal for the training grounds. So he opts to head to the Knights Hall instead.

Before he enters, however, when he notices the flicker of light up above. He looks up, the shadow of a figure ghosting across the opening of a window where torchlight dances over the sill. But who the hell would be in the war room at this hour? Even Seteth would stay in the confines of his office.

He has a solid guess. Felix diverts his path.

—

And when he nudges the war room door open with his foot, he’s right. Byleth is pacing back and forth, a mess of documents and maps and battalion tokens scattered about in what can be described as nothing less than an organized mess. If she noticed him open the door, she hasn’t acknowledged him, instead staring down at the holes she’s wearing in the floor as she seems to silently mutter to herself.

At first glance, one would think she was planning a strategy to Enbarr. The lines of stress on her face and dark circles under her eyes could certainly attest to that. It was a stark difference from the way her face had lit up, however subtle, when he’d overheard her laugh after the battle at Aillel. Now she seems drained, anxious, like there’s some sort of panic brewing under the calm placid waters of her demeanor.

“You’re still up,” he says.

It isn’t until he speaks that she looks his way and stops pacing, but there’s no indication she’s surprised by the intrusion. The way the candlelight flickers across her face just makes the bags under her eyes more pronounced. “Can’t sleep.” She goes back to looking down at the mess of documents spread out across the long table. “I have to figure out some sort of strategy for Enbarr if we want to have any chance.”

His lip curls up at the mention, stifling a grunt of frustration. _Enbarr_. They had no business going there. Not yet. Not when their numbers are still so low, even with the forces from his home territory. Not when Fhirdiad was subdued under the enemy’s rule. Not when Dimitri’s entire ‘plan’ revolved around storming the imperial capital for nothing more than blood lust and gruesome revenge.

She knows these things, though. He knows she does. But despite her rank, despite her capability, despite the fact she was still of _sound mind_ …it had been decided they would listen to Dimitri instead…And she’s left to do the dirty work of making it happen.

It pisses him off to no end. “It’s suicide.” He knows the difference between overcoming insurmountable odds and just being stupid and reckless.

Byleth looks to him again, her eyes darting to the hallway behind him before flitting back. She nudges her head for him to approach. Understanding her signals, he pulls the door shut behind him before moves toward her.

It’s not until he’s right next to her that she speaks again, but her tone is hushed. It’s even quieter since she’s talking at the papers on the table she’s leaning over, even if she’s talking _to_ him. “I know it is,” she admits. Her voice is heavily lined with exhaustion. One hand lifts to run up over her forehead and through her bangs. “But Dimitri won’t listen to reason, and the old men won’t listen to anyone but Dimitri.” She pauses, glancing his way just briefly. “No offense.”

Felix scoffs. “None taken.” He’s well aware of his own father’s shortcomings. _Painfully_ aware. “So you’re just going to go along with it?” It’s impossible to keep the irritation out of his voice.

He’s met with irritation on her face. “No. But I can’t force anyone to follow me instead…And if I tried, I’m hesitant to believe it would go over without violence.”

His scowl deepens, but this time not at her. The very thought of Dimitri attacking her made his blood boil. He’s brought back to that day when the empire attacked and the Boar had towered over her so menacingly he thought he’d have to step in. If Hapi hadn’t, he might have. And it wouldn’t have ended well.

Felix can’t blame her for trying to avoid a repeat of that. “You have another idea, then?” Hopeful, this time. Because if she doesn’t have any idea what to do…who would?

“…Sort of.” The hesitation in her voice prompts him to raise a brow, curious to hear the rest. She lifts her gaze up to him. “But it’s…risky.” There’s a pause as she sits on the tabletop, turned towards him. “Dimitri wants to storm Enbarr to get to Edelgard. That’s his sole objective, it seems. If we can somehow make him and the others think that she’ll be in Fhirdiad…we can divert the path to where we need to be.”

He blinks, a bit surprised that her alternate plan was a deceptive one. “You want to lie?”

Byleth frowns at that. “I don’t _want_ to…but I don’t see any other way out of this.”

Felix shifts on his heels, mulling over the idea. She was right. It was risky. So many things could go wrong if they didn’t have their facts straight or if any contradicting information came through. He shrugs. “…Maybe she joined up with her forces in the Capital…wants to make one final push to wipe out the rest of Faerghus.”

It takes Byleth a moment to realize he’s building on the lie, but when she does, that slight upward twitch of her lip is the most hopeful look he’s seen on her face all day. “I think that’s very believable. But that’s not the hard part…” Her hands fold idly in her lap while her feet kick about in midair anxiously under the table. Are her feet really that far off the ground? She’s so strong it’s easy to forget how small she is.

“—The information can’t come from me,” she continues. “If it does, he’ll know I’m lying. Or at least suspect it and accuse me anyway. It likely can’t come from anyone who was against the march on Enbarr—”, like Felix, her eyes seem to say as they flit to him. “—or he’ll be suspicious of it. So we’re going to need to get someone else in on it who is either neutral or supportive of it…that we can trust. Sylvain or Yuri are possibilities…if Dimitri’s inclined to listen to them. But I think Hapi will be our best bet.”

Felix nods. The Boar didn’t seem to listen to anyone these days, but the woman from Abyss seemed to have _some_ sort of pull with him. What that influence was, Felix has no idea. But if it can work to their advantage, he doesn’t care. “It could work. How are we getting the information to her?”

The wheels are beginning to turn in her head. He can see it in her eyes, the way they shift from empty to calculating. Sliding a blank parchment to him, a small smirk finally lights up her face, and finally, he feels like maybe they can get this war back on the right track.

“We’re going to plant it.”

The next morning, they’re up before the sun to do just that. With the march to Enbarr only days away, they had no time to waste. Hapi and Sylvain would have the first morning patrol of the grounds outside the monastery thanks to some minor schedule shifts and a few white lies. Both were aware of the plan: go to the location, find the hidden note, kill something to make the fresh blood look like they’d caught an imperial spy, bring the note back.

It wasn’t flawless, but it was the best option they had. They had practiced handwriting to make sure theirs wasn’t recognizable, wrote in a voice that wasn’t recognizable as theirs. Yuri had even provided an Adrestian Wax Seal (how he got it, Felix can only guess). It looked genuine enough, the rest would be up to Hapi and Sylvain to sell it. And hopefully, the two could keep their story straight.

That was the part that Felix worried about the most.

“ _Can we trust Sylvain to go along with this? He wasn_ _’t initially against Enbarr.”_

_“ He wasn’t in favor of it either,” Felix clarified. “Same as your friend.”_

_Byleth nodded._ _“Hopefully that’s enough.”_

Maybe it would have been more convincing to pick someone who hadn’t been neutral, but it would also be risky. They’d either tell Dimitri about it or, hell…failed entirely because they don’t like the idea of lying, particularly to friends or ‘their king’.

Sylvain could lie through his teeth, however. And Hapi had a face as hard to read as Byleth sometimes. They were the best bet.

But also a selfish one. They know part of the reason they’d chosen the pair was that Felix couldn’t lie to Sylvain, and Byleth couldn’t lie to Hapi.

That’s all they can afford, though. The more people who know, the more likely tongues will start wagging until the wrong people find out. So here they are now, trudging through forestry to the designated rendezvous point. There are only slim beams of dull light breaking through the trees, leaving them to move mostly in shadow: something Byleth seems to be able to do without any trouble whatsoever. Felix tries to cling to her heels, but it’s a struggle at the speed she’s moving. This is her terrain, not his.

“Don’t get too far ahead,” he says, just loud enough that she can hear him. He doesn’t want his voice to carry. There’s no telling if any enemies _are_ out here. She’s more than a few paces ahead of him now.

Her head turns to glance over her shoulder, but she doesn’t slow down. It almost seems like she’s moving _faster._ “Then don’t let me,” she teases. He can’t see her smirk, but he can see the way it lifts her eyes.

Pleased as he is to see her begin to slip back into her normal self, he grimaces. He doesn’t feel like now is the time for it. At the same time…his mind immediately backtracks to their spar before Aillel. The way she’d pinned him down entirely, trapping him beneath her with no sense of shame or concern. He could smell the leather of her armor, the hint of mint tea on her breath, a hint of citrus he couldn’t place the source of…but that had vanished when she sat up. If asked, he would deny that the fantasy of grabbing her hips and rolling his own into her had crossed his mind.

Now he imagines that contact again. Grabbing her by the wrist to pull her back until she’s flush against him. Pin her against the nearest tree so she can’t get away again. Pressing one leg between hers until—

The sound of a heavy _thud_ brings him back to the present, ripping him from his daydream. Eyes wide, his head snaps up as he looks around.

“Byleth?!”

He can’t see her. There’s too much shadow and now, he notices, an ominous fog in front of him, a toxic violet in color.

Immediately, he draws his sword and darts forward. “Byleth!” But out from the shadows appears an assassin wearing a bird-like mask. It’s familiar, but there’s no time to focus on that as he brings his blade up to counter the assailant’s attack. They aren’t that skilled, Felix already has the enemy on the ropes a few swings in. Unfortunately, the assassin is not alone. Two more flank him from behind, forcing him to land a harsh and haphazard blow on the first so he can back into his space.

Normally, he could take three enemies at a time without much issue, and easily with Byleth. But Felix has disadvantages this time.

The first, he was was ambushed.

The second, he was growing sluggish suddenly. His focus and visions were slipping. It’s too late that he realizes the fog is spreading outward and he’s stepped further into it.

The third, he found Byleth…by tripping over her unconscious body hidden in the brush when he tried to evade the rear attack.

Felix falls backward, head knocking against the trunk of a tree just as he hits the ground. He opens his eyes, but they’re heavy and reluctant to follow his body’s commands. Darkness creeps around the edges of his vision as consciousness starts to leave him. The last thing he sees is Byleth under his legs and three masks block out the canopy before it all goes black.

He’s failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first, let me just say I am SO SORRY it took so long to update this. Between holidays and zines and home renovations and novel work, I have simply been SWAMPED. But I have been slowly picking away at this and now it's finally ready! Thank you everyone for your patience and nothing inspires me more than the wonderful feedback you guys leave. I am enjoying writing the story but not as much as I enjoy you guys enjoying it. 
> 
> Now on to update Last Firstborn which is also grossly overdue lol.


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